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One Way Round the World 




A GEISHA 



One Way Round the World: 

By Delight Sweetser : With 
Illustrations from Photographs 




FOURTH EDITION. 



Indianapolis, Indiana, U. S. A. 

Ube J5owen*/lDetrtU Company 

PUBLISHERS 



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JAPAN REFEREfiGE 
LIBRARY 

NEW YORK 






CoPTEism 1898, 

BY 

The BowEN-MEEEiiiL Co. 




Braunworth, Munn & Barber 

Printers and Binders 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 



To my 

Father and Mother 

and all others ■^/hose companionship 

made of 

this journey a deKghtfttl 

memory 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



I 

Car Window Reflections i 

II 
On the Pathless Pacific 8 

III 
The Islands of the Pacific 17 

IV 
In Yokohama 30 

V 

Japanese Customs and Beliefs 39 

VI 
Tokio and Elsewhere 48 

VII 
The Mikado's Birthday » ... 57 

VIII 
Japan's Glorious Mountains 71 

IX 
Odds and Ends 83 

X 

In Palace, Temple and Theater •93 



XI ^ 

In Old Shanghai 102 

XII 

h- Week in Wen Chow, China ........... 113 



Table of Contents 

XIII 
In the China Sea 119 

XIV 
In Canton 126 

XV 
From Hong-Kong to Singapore 134 

XVI 
The Land of Gems and Flowers i^e 

XVII 
What we Saw in India 160 

XVIII 
A Glimpse of the Ganges 172 

XIX 
Benares, the Holj City of India 184 

XX 

A Wise Man of India ig2 

XXI 

Agra and its Taj Mahal 200 

XXII 
A Modern Prince of India 213 

XXIII 
In Egypt 229 

XXIV 
In the Shadow of the Pyramids 245 

XXV 
Due West Again 258 



UST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

fi Gbisha Frontispiece 

FiEST Glimpse of the Paeadise of the Pacifio 16 

The Gaedbn of the Aelington, Honolulu 20 

On the Lava Bed 28 

Miss Moonshine, Miss Febfume anb Miss Chebbt Blossom SO 

Japanese Junks 32 

A Japanese Lady in heb Jineikisha 34 

Temple Enteance at Nikko 40 

Japanese Gibls H 

The Monkeys at Nieeo 46 

An Appeoved Japanese Mackintosh B4 

Fuji in Chbysanthemums 66 

The Pagoda at Nikko 60 

A Gaeden in Tokyo 70 

Deum and Samisen Platxbb 73 

Taking Caeb of the Babt 80 

Sacbed Dancebs at Naba 82 

Japanese Wobkmek 84 

A Temple ^ 86 

A Sign in Tokyo 90 

The Entbance of a Thbatbb 94 

A Thbatbe Steeet 98 

A Shanghai Cab 102 

Chinese Actobs 106 

A Chinese Family of Wealth 110 

Chinese Coffins Awaiting Bubiaii 112 

Chinese Junk, Showing the Eye, 122 

Sampans at Canton 126 

An Obiental Costuhb 138 



Illustrations 

By JiNBlKISHA IN SiNGAPOBB 1^ 

Woman of Ceylon 1** 

A "Jolly" Boat 1*6 

Snake Chaemee and Juggles 1*8 

A Singhalese Geoup 150 

Native Bungalows Nbae Kandt 152 

The Temple op the Tooth 154 

An Elephant at Woek 156 

Giant Bamboo 158 

Devil Dancees of Ceylon 162 

On the Way to Daejeeling 178 

Beahmin Woeshiping 186 

On the Banks of the Ganges at Benaebs 188 

A Little Tamil Beide 190 

Holy Man of Benaees 192 

An Ascetic 194 

BuENiNG Ghat at Benaebs 196 

Pavilion at Lucknow 198 

Bullock Caet, Lucknow 202 

Domes of the Peael Mosque, Agea 206 

PlEECED Maeble Sceeens AT Agea 208 

Aeches in the Peael Mosque 210 

The Taj Mahal 212 

The Foet at Delhi 220 

Tombs in Old Delhi 222 

A Zenana Caet 224 

Sais 236 

"Backsheesh, Lbddt I" 233 

Dahabbahs on the Nile 248 

Caieo, Feom the Citadel 252 

A Faie Caiebne 254 

Suez Canal 260 

One of Landseee's Lions 268 



One Way Round the World 



I 

Car Window Reflections 

<< 1^ AST or west, home's best," so they say and so it 
\j IS, and I find a little rust of regret on the fine 
edge of my enthusiasm to think that my path back to 
Hoosierdom lies over some forty thousand odd miles and 
around the globe. Like the old lady who said she was 
glad to get back but sorry to return, I am glad to start 
but sorry to go. However, I have started for Indiana, 
if by a truly roundabout way. Rapid transit threatens to 
make all the world alike, in a century or two, and I call 
myself fortunate to see the lands of fans and rat tails 
before Madame Chrysanthemum rides the bicycle or Mr. 
Ah Sin introduces the trolley party. 

What a varied and often brilliant series of pictures 
my car window has framed for me on my long journey 
overland. Corn! Corn! Corn! in Kansas, enough to 
feed the world one would think, stretching away in wav- 
ing golden fields to meet the blue horizon. Wide, tree- 
less stretches of tableland in Colorado, a sky every whit 
as blue as Italy's, clear and cloudless, with a fringe of 
misty mountains. A veritable garden of Eden in the 
Salt Lake Valley, reclaimed from the desert by the thrifty 
Mormons. Nevada — sage brush, sand and desolation ; 

I 



One Way Round the "World 

a sombre veneer for the shining metals that lie hidden 
in its bosom. And then California, introduced by the 
wild, wooded slopes of the Sierra Nevada, by magnifi- 
cent peaks and deep cut canons ; afterward, gay and 
smiling and flowery, a delight to the eye. 

Seeing is believing the beauty of mountain scenery. 
Neither an author's pen nor an artist's brush can more 
than suggest the vivid reality. Stories in dialect and 
descriptions of scenery were ever unpardonable to me, 
and let the man who never sees mountains live a joy- 
ous life in the plains, undisturbed by being told about 
them. An hour's stroll in the shops of Colorado Springs 
is a good object lesson in what to avoid, a striking illus- 
tration of what ugly things money will buy. An air of 
untidiness and worse pervades the place and it is out of 
doors that one must look for the beauty that has made it 
famous. The Garden of the Gods is a really beautiful 
spot, with a wealth of color and an astonishing number 
of odd-shaped rocks, astonishingly named. I made the 
same discovery in Colorado Springs that M. Alphonse 
Daudet did in London — that it is silent ! There is great 
activity in the streets, too ; but it is withal noiseless and 
dreamy and restful. Perhaps the fine air that blows off 
mountain slopes is responsible for the impression. 

Everything is done there under the auspices of Pike's 
Peak. At every turn one's eye rests on that grand old 
mountain. There is something singularly masculine 
about its gaunt slopes and massive peak, just as some 
of the more delicate of the Alpine peaks suggest fem- 
ininity. The Rockies can never be rivals of the Alps 

2 



Cat Window Reflections 

unless it is in the actual and uninteresting number of feet 
that they tower above sea level. In this more southerly- 
latitude the snow line is too high, the valleys too broad, 
the whole surrounding plateau too elevated to give that 
magnificent effect of height and grandeur so often seen 
in Switzerland. Yet there is a great charm of color, of 
hazy atmosphere, of light and shade. The ride from 
Colorado Springs to Glenwood is a marvelous one, 
crowned by one of the greatest feats of American engi- 
neering, the tunnel of the Hagerman pass, a two-mile 
tunnel that cost a million and a half dollars to build. 
After a toilsome climb of hours behind two puffing, 
straining engines, the train pierces the mountains, crosses 
the "divide" and literally coasts down to Glenwood with- 
out an ounce of steam, falling five thousand feet in sixty- 
five miles. The names of the little mountain settle- 
ments, by courtesy called towns, have a mellow Colorado 
flavor — Rifle, Cellar, Parachute, Peachblow, Frying 
Pan, etc. 

If I might be permitted to coin a phrase for our lan- 
guage, I would suggest "the tame and cottony East." 
There might be some difficulty in defining its bounda- 
ries, as the San Francisco man goes "East" to Salt 
Lake, and some New Yorkers go West to Buffalo. 
However that may be, the effrontery of the individual 
who called the West wild and woolly has long rankled 
in my soul. If we are wild, is he not tame ? If we are 
woolly, why is he not cottony.? Yet there is no denying 
that the West is very ragged ; very Oshkosh, as it were. 
A Rocky Mountain town is a "specimen" not to be 

3 



One "Way Round the WotU 

found elsewhere, well set in cheerless surroundings. A 
side track, a saloon, a general store, a dozen shanties, a 
painted house that belongs to the nabob of the settle- 
ment, a dispirited tree or two, an unlimited background 
and sideground and foreground of sage brush and sand 
— of such is the far western town. 

Perhaps there is no more fruitful field for the study 
of "types" than the overland train. The young and 
the old, the intellectual and the ignorant, he who has 
been rich, or is, or will be, all fraternize surprisingly. 
A little company of souls whose lives are tangent at one 
point, who eat, drink, and are merry together and whose 
paths lie in as many directions as the wind's. 

The Pullman palace cars are not all the name sug- 
gests. Perhaps the pioneer, who crossed in '58, when 
Denver was seven days by stage from Quincy, Illinois, 
would not be so captious a critic, but the majority of 
end-of-the-century travelers are apt to agree with the man 
who said he hated to pay such a high price for insomnia. 
At night the sleeper accumulates such a load of dust 
and cinders that an early morning riser, if a man, is apt 
to be mistaken for the porter. He, however, has a fair 
chance of rectifying the mistake, but when the new- 
woman porter amves, the women passengers may have 
to resort to badges for distinction. 

Why a man, who has about half the number of gar- 
ments to put on that a woman has, should be allotted 
double the space for a dressing and washing room, is a 
question that might be referred to the sphinx— or Mr. 

4 



Cat "Window Reflections 

Pullman. The fact that a man is, sometimes, twice as 
big as a woman, isn't consoling in the least, and as a 
last straw, man is given a smoking room beside. It has 
always seemed amusing to me that it is in the United 
States, where woman has the greatest privileges and the 
most enviable position, that she howls the loudest for her 
rights, but this affaire de Pullman is enough to engender 
rebellion in the meekest heart. 

Among the passengers leaving Colorado Springs was 
a jolly party of four, easily known as southerners by 
their accent. I amused myself by surmising the rela- 
tions of the quartet and their probable destination, for 
they had a vast amount of impedimenta in the way of 
guns and rods. Two of them I disposed of as husband 
and wife, the other two as brother and sister, the sister 
being, according to such reckoning, a jolly old maid. The 
only ray of consolation that came to me afterward was 
that I had rightly guessed that the party was going bear 
hunting in the Rockies, for the jolly old maid told me 
that she and her husband were taking their "second 
wedding trip," to celebrate the birth of their first grand- 
child, and that she was the mother of ten children, five 
boys and five girls. Really, I think that was the most 
ponderous misfit that I ever devised. 

As in the old days all roads led to Rome, so all Cali- 
fornia roads apparently lead to San Francisco. 

San Francisco itself, with its slanting streets, hand- 
some buildings, beautiful views and flowery gardens 
has a great charm. It is known all over the state as 

5 



One "Way Round the Wotid 

"the city," and often referred to ambiguously as "down 
below." The expression was probably coined by some 
tenderfoot who had been slid up and down some of its 
amazing hills on the cable cars. Necessity is truly the 
mother of invention and it is in San Francisco that the 
cable system was introduced and In San Francisco that 
it is most nearly perfected. Even under such difficul- 
ties as the hills offer, the cars run very smoothly. The 
inclines are so steep that it is something of a novelty to 
ride in a cable car without feeling that you are in im- 
mediate danger of dislocating most anything. 

In San Francisco, the upper ten most appropriately 
live on Nob Hill, away up at the tip top of California 
street. It is an imposing site for fine mansions. They 
tower majestically over the city in the day time and 
twinkle with starry lights at night. Almost all of these 
buildings are of wood, the danger of earthquakes being 
always in people's minds. 

We have seen the stock sights of the city, Sutro 
Heights, and Baths, the Seal Rocks, Cliff House, etc., 
but the most of San Francisco and California must be 
left for another time. A peep at Chinatown was inter- 
esting, and we can some day compare it with a real 
China town. The red and yellow and purple and blue 
little folks, with their odd, little, one-sided pig-tails, 
were the most entertaining. A delicious little Celes- 
tial, yellow and almond-eyed, dressed in all the colors 
of the rainbow, gave my finger a tight squeeze, just as 
an American baby would have done. 



Car Window Reflections 

Kathryn Kidder is at the Baldwin in Madame Sans- 
GSne. The play is pleasing but not to be compared 
with the French production. Miss Kidder's conception 
of the character of Madame Sans-GSne, the washer- 
woman who becomes the duchess, has little of the ex- 
quisite delicacy and pathos with which Rdjane's shines. 
The audience was fashionable, but we had a very bad 
case of the man who laughs in the wrong place, just 
behind us. Of the individuals we long to miss, he 
heads the list. 

Among my traveling companions going over to Oak- 
land one day were two strikingly beautiful girls, who 
linger in my memory. One was plainly of the people, 
brilliant in complexion, innocent in expression, fault- 
less in form and feature. The other, chic, refined, 
elegant, had a beautiful, intelligent face, with a faint, 
fascinating frown across her perfect brow. My eyes 
were irresistibly drawn to one or the other of those be- 
witching faces. They have an association of native 
sons in this state, sons born on the soil, and I wondered 
if these were native daughters. One might sigh to be 
a Californian if all were such. I was reminded that 
three women, all famous for their wit and intellect, 
were once asked if they would rather be brilliant or 
beautiful and they all replied unhesitatingly, "Beauti- 
ful." 

There is food for further reflections. 



n 

On the Pathless Pacific 

AT four p. M. on September twenty-first, the good 
ship "City of Peking" steamed through the 
Golden Gate for still another of her long voyages on 
the pathless Pacific. The hosts of preparations that 
each one of us represented were all finished, the last 
good-bye had been waved, the broad sea lay before us 
and we were left to practice the art, as Artemus Ward 
put it, of "keeping inside your berth and outside your 
dinner." 

There is something very dramatic about the sailing of 
a great ocean vessel, something almost sad, a picture 
that frames itself in memory but eludes the pen when 
one tries to put it into words. As the moment of our 
departure draws near, a contagious excitement fills the 
air. All the passengers are warned to make haste to 
come on board and the visitors warned to land by a 
pig-tailed Celestial, who vigorously hammers a deafen- 
ing gong. There is a tremendous bustle among the 
people on the dock. The crowd of friends who come 
to wave bon voyage repeat for the hundredth time to 
"be sure and write" ; many eyes glisten suspiciously, 
jokes on seasickness flourish, belated baggage arrives 
in rumbling wagons, the officers shout orders. At the 

8 



On the Pathless Pacific 

stern a group of departing missionaries are singing 
hymns with their friends while a group of Chinamen at 
the bow exchange pleasantries with their countrymen 
on the dock. When the last gang plank is pulled off, 
we glide out into the bay followed by a shower of bits 
of yellow paper that float like butterflies in the air. 
They are the Chinese prayers for a good voyage and, to 
a person with a grain of superstition, they are a cheer- 
ful omen. I have turned my tortoise shell comb on 
my own country, and it is pleasant to have even Chi- 
nese good wishes for a safe return. So many possible 
perils lie before the stanchest ship as she follows her 
course across the lonely ocean. Today we are a thou- 
sand miles from anywhere and only one sail has been 
sighted, the faintest ghost of a sail far off on the horizon. 
Besides our own throbbing engines and the life that the 
ship bears with her, nothing suggests the existence of 
man. We leave behind us a broad path of foaming blue, 
but even before we lose sight of it in the distance the 
water has settled back into its old calm and forgotten us. 
Human life belongs to the soil. Old ocean fosters us only 
because ship builders have outwitted him. By the way, 
if any one desires to earn the title of "professional cheer- 
upodist," let him spend his time writing steamer letters 
to his friends. Letters always gladden the heart of a 
wanderer from home and those received just as the 
homeland is fading away are perhaps the most grateful 
of all. 

The City of Peking is no longer a frisky girl. She 
began her career some twenty-two years ago and now 

9 



One "Way Round the "World 

pursues her course as sedately as wind and weather per- 
mit. The sea has been very smooth, and few of the 
passengers have fallen victims to that most real and 
most unromantic of all afflictions — seasickness. Oh, 
the nothingness of nothing to do ! The mild excite- 
ment of shuffle board and quoits wears itself out and 
walking the deck becomes a duty. One's head becomes 
a perfect sieve so far as catching ideas is concerned. 
Flying fish can't divert one for days at a time, and even 
the novel sight of seeing a pair of fine horses take a con- 
stitutional on the deck loses zest. The days are so 
nearly alike that I can't decide whether I got aboard 
yesterday or have been on forever. I have heard of a 
man who wasn't lazy, but a great lover of physical and 
mental calm. He must have liked the ocean. Yet it 
is a "sweet doing nothing" — do Ice far jziente — after all, 
and we have made many friends and shall see the City 
of Peking sail on for Hong-Kong without us with regret. 

We have the usual gist of notables aboard. Baron 
Nissi, envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotenti- 
ary (!) of Japan to Russia, is returning, it is said, to 
take a position in the cabinet. He gained particular 
distinction for himself by his skillful management of 
Japanese affairs in Russia during the late war. The 
baron is a quiet, unassuming, courteous gentleman, 
hardly the man you would select as one who had hob- 
nobbed with the czar of all the Russias. He is fond of 
whist and plays a good game. 

Another interesting person is Mr. Frederick Yates, 
the English artist who has had many portraits in the 

lO 



On the Pathless Pacific 

Salon and Royal Academy. He talks most entertain- 
ingly of art and artists, indeed of anything, and fur- 
nishes much fun for the little folks with his song of the 
Royal Wild Beast Show. Mr. Yates' first commission 
when he returns to London will be the portrait of Sir 
Henry Irving. He has made several sketches of young 
ladies aboard and a notable one of Topsy, genial Cap- 
tain Smith's favorite dog. 

Topsy is a character. She is devoted to the captain 
but is not to be beguiled by soft blandishments from 
any one else and most often does not deign to turn her 
head when spoken to. Evidently Topsy has wearied 
of attention. When her majesty desires, however, she 
trots up to me, taps me on the knee, and when I take 
her up she tucks her nose in m}^ sleeve and goes to sleep. 

Lieutenant Autran of the Spanish navy and Lieuten- 
ant Mahan and Ensign Taylor, U. S. N. , are going out 
to join their ships, and en route make most agreeable 
traveling companions. At the captain's table there are 
two round-the-worlders besides ourselves, Mr. Pettengill 
and Mr. Miller, of Cleveland, who stop, as we do, at 
the Hawaiian Islands to see Kilauea. We have, beside, 
jolly Mr. Main, English and entertaining, who says that 
when he puts his hat on his head it covers all his family. 

Dinner table talk flits over topics grave and gay, wise 
and otherwise. Nobody could be dull within ten leagues 
of Captain Smith, for nobody spins a yarn better or 
laughs more heartily. It isn't unusual for me to run up 
against a bit of my own ignorance, something that every- 
body knows, with much the same feeling that one finds 



One "Way Round the "World 

a stone wall at the end of a lane, and I seem to have a 
rare field for it in nautical matters. One day the ball 
of conversation rolled to the subject of war ships and 
their immense weight. The discussion developed a 
question for your wise friend. He may know Archi- 
medes' principle and how he discovered it, but again he 
may not. What is the principle of a ship's floating? 
Does an ironclad, for instance, weigh more or less than 
its displacement.^ It seems almost incredible to a per- 
son who knows nothing about it, that a heavy man-of- 
war displaces its weight of water, but the captain tells 
me that every vessel large or small displaces exactly its 
own weight, and that ship builders calculate to a nicety 
the weight of everything it is to carry, down to the in- 
struments and crew, and construct the ship accordingly. 
John Chinaman is a puzzle. They tell a story of a 
missionary who spent some months learning three or 
four hundred intricate Chinese characters and then when 
he got out to China he found he had learned them up- 
side down. Chinese characteristics seem very much up- 
side down too, as we study them, and yet we should 
have a care in passing judgment. I think people are 
apt to underestimate the intelligence of the Chinese, and 
the way initiated Americans are accustomed to speak of 
them and to them is a bit shocking to uninitiated ears. 
It is easy to fall into the error of thinking, because a 
person does something that seems to you foolish, that 
he necessarily is foolish. That the Chinaman — begging 
his pardon, for he prefers the correct word Chinese — 
does things in a different way from what we do, is too 

12 



On the Pathless Pacific 

true, but that this is an evidence of his folly is not so 
easy to prove. 

Once a Chinaman sav^ a young English woman play- 
ing a lively game of tennis and inquired how much she 
was paid for it. When he was told that she received 
nothing for the exertion he wouldn't believe it. It all 
depends on the point of view. Fortunately, though a 
somewhat conscientious sightseer, I don't feel under ob- 
ligations to decide great questions one way or the other, 
so I still enjoy life a good deal. 

Ah Sing and Ah Sang are a perennial feast of amuse- 
ment for me. They are so different, yet so curiously 
alike, and the syllables play leap frog off the end of 
their tongues in such an entertaining way. One would 
think that after having twisted their tongues around 
Chinese, they could pronounce anything, but they speak 
English with a very marked accent. 

Our steward is Ah Choo ! The Wise One calls him 
Sneeze, because that is so much easier to remember. 
Ah Choo is a jewel. Even if he does speak English 
upside down, he is a faithful servant with a happy fac- 
ulty for anticipating one's wants and remembering 
where he has seen things. Then there is little Ah You, 
thin as to frame and thin as to pig-tail, who always 
misunderstands before he understands you, and who 
works rapidly and incessantly from morning till night. 
Sometimes I see him squatting on the floor in the most 
uncomfortable attitude possible, washing the cups and 
saucers. He carefully tucks the end of his queue into 
his pocket to keep it out of his way. One day he came 

13 



One "Way Round the World 

along the deck with a cigarette between his lips. There 
was a booming breeze and I wondered how he was go- 
ing to light it. What did he do but lift his wide sleeve, 
stick his head well into it and emerge a moment later 
with a glowing tip on the cigarette and a halo of smoke 
wreaths around his celestial pate. 

Forward, we have a small Chinatown, where the 
Chinamen sit on the deck smoking and playing domi- 
noes and chattering like magpies. Like the Indians, 
they have a superstition about being photographed, and 
skurry away when the camera appears. 

The second day out we heard that a Chinaman in 
the steerage had died. He came on board in the last 
stages of consumption, and it seems he didn't expect to 
live to reach China for he had paid in San Francisco the 
$30 that the company charges for carrying a dead body 
into port. This is not at all unusual, for every China- 
man believes that unless he is buried in Chinese soil 
and his friends and family burn incense and say prayers 
over his grave he can not be happy in the future life. 
He expresses it something like this : "Suppose wantchee 
go topside, after kill, then wantchee family make chin- 
chin joss at grave. Suppose no take bones, no makee 
grave, no speakee chin-chin joss, then not belong top- 
side at all after kill; belong hellee." So the steamship 
companies sign a contract when they take a Chinaman 
to America that they will bring him or his bones back 
to China. 

One day I dropped into one of the long wicker 
steamer chairs 'for a chat with the ship's surgeon. When 

14 



On the Pathless Pacific 

a man dies on board, the body is embalmed by the sur- 
geon, put in a coffin and hoisted into one of the life 
boats. Part of the $30 goes to the surgeon and the 
Chinamen understand that he has something to gain by 
their death, so they are very distrustful of him and re- 
fuse to take any of his medicine. "Once," he said, 
"I offered a man who was dangerously ill some brandy 
and ginger. He refused to take it, saying there was 
poison in it. To convince him, I drank the glass my- 
self and offered to get more for him. He wouldn't take 
it, however, and died a couple of hours later." 

The Chinese have very peculiar methods of treating 
the sick. Sometimes they pinch the skin and pull it 
out as far as possible from the body, or sometiines they 
run needles in the flesh. Again, they put red powder 
that looks like brick dust in the nostrils. This heroic 
treatment, the surgeon says, often exhausts a sick man, 
and he dies very soon after it. 

Moon waits on the captain's table. I believe he 
spells it Mun, but Moon suits him better. Moon wears 
a long white gown and looks as if he had just been 
washed and ironed. He slides noiselessly around on 
his felt-soled shoes; dignified, alert, watchful, indis- 
pensable. 

Last night we reached Honolulu. A glorious moon 
shone between the fleecy clouds and turned the sea to 
molten silver. It was past midnight but many of the 
passengers were on deck ';o catch that first, familiar, 
grateful glimpse of land. The lights of Honolulu 

^5 



One "Way Round the World 

seemed to twinkle a welcome to us, as we sped along 
sending flaming rockets high into the air as a signal to 
the pilot to come and steer us safely through the coral 
reefs. The pilot once aboard, we were soon along 
side the dock, safely landed in the "Paradise of the 
Pacific." 



16 



m 

The Islands of the Pacific 

WHEREVER the wind of fortune blows people of 
many nationalities together there arises a mass 
of incongruities. It is so in Honolulu. If one selects 
a half-dozen street corners in the city, they may suggest 
a half-dozen different countries, for people and colonies 
of all nations are there. The races, too, are very much 
intermingled, and it would take an expert mathemati- 
cian to calculate the fractions of blood sometimes repre- 
sented in one person. A dark-skinned fellow, darker 
than the native Hawaiian, was pointed out to me and I 
was told that his grandmother on one side was an East 
Indian and his grandfather a Chinaman. His father 
was a white man and yet he himself was almost as dark 
as a negro. The intelligence of these half breeds is 
considerably above the average and this particular man 
is extremely intelligent. He was educated at one of our 
colleges in the States. The pure-blooded Hawaiians are 
a handsome race, but the most regular features and finest 
physiques come from a mixture of the Hawaiian with 
white blood. 

Incongruities of race go hand in hand with incongru- 
ities of dress. The "Mother Hubbard law" has not yet 
been passed in the Islands, it is evident, for the native 
2 17 



One Way Round the World 

costume is a loose, full garment that is best described 
by that name. It is worn on all occasions, sometimes 
being made of silk and satin. If I remember my Mother 
Goose, Mother Hubbard was an attenuated little old 
lady who wore her original garment rather gracefully, 
but it is far from becoming to some of these Hawaiian 
belles, of truly amazing proportions. The original cos- 
tume of the Islands was principally smiles and complex- 
ion and the ungainly loose gown was first introduced by 
the missionaries. It is said that the introduction of 
clothes has been fatal to the native race, for they are 
utterly careless about precautions against dampness and 
care in ventilation. 

Another curious sight is a Chinaman in overalls or a 
Jap in a washpan hat and russet shoes. The sailor hat 
is a favorite, too, and is usually decorated with a wreath 
of natural flowers. Several times I've seen women who 
were barefoot, wearing a calico Mother Hubbard and a 
rather modish walking hat, adorned with flowers. 

The language is very musical, easy to learn to under- 
stand, but difficult to learn to speak, for the native ear 
is quick to mark the slightest distinction in vowel sounds 
that we have difficulty in hearing. As there are twelve 
islands in the group so there are twelve letters in the 
alphabet, A-E-I-O-U-H-K-L-M-N-P-W, and every syl- 
lable and every word ends in a vowel. It is a curious 
fact that the natives of the Hawaiian Islands and the 
New Zealanders readily understand one another, though 
separated by five thousand miles of water. This is a 
sign that I copied from a buildmg opposite the Arling- 

i8 



Tlie Islands of the Pacific 

ton. It is a prosaic advertisement of lumber instead of 

a family romance, as one might imagine : 

Lui Ma 

Pa Kuai Papa 

A Me Na Lako Kukulu Hale E A E 

A Na Amo Apau. 

As to climate : It was Disraeli who said that to be 
young and to be in love and to be in Paris is to reach 
the height of human felicity, but he might have said 
Hawaii, for it seems a place cut out for lovers and hon- 
eymoons and beatific states in general. One has spirits 
to give away. The breeze is always so balmy, the sky 
so often blue, the climate so mild, that the Hawaiian 
language has no word to express the general idea of the 
weather. I don't know as yet with what they fill up 
gaps in conversation. 

In Honolulu the gardens are a blaze of gorgeous color, 
relieved by lovely palms and lacy-ioliaged trees that have 
the fresh green color of our early springtime. The veg- 
etation is tropical and the lovely road to Waikiki, skirt- 
ing the sea, runs through fields of banana plants and 
thick groves of tall cocoanut palms, many of them from 
fifty to seventy feet high. At this season the slender 
trunks are bent with the weight of the fruit. Only small 
boys dare to climb them, for the weight of a man at so 
great a height might snap the trunks. Our garden at 
the Arlington was full of clear-voiced birds and there 
was a magpie that whistled sweetly "Way Down Upon 
the Swanee River." An invalid who had spent many 
hours on the wide veranda had taught him, and as soon 

19 



One "Way Round the World 

as he heard someone whistle the opening bar he would 
take up the strain and finish it. The Hawaiians are 
verjT^ musical and play and sing delightfully their simple 
tuneful airs. They use an instrument called an ukulele, 
a cunning diminutive guitar that I have already found 
irresistible and added to my possessions. The prettiest 
of the airs are sung to accompany the hula, a native 
dance. The ukulele is played with a peculiar strum- 
ming stroke, not unlike the banjo, and the same strain is 
repeated indefinitely until the dance is finished. There 
is something mournful about the monotonous minor 
strains that makes them seem appropriate national airs, 
for there is a pathos in the situation of these handsome, 
strong-limbed, dark-eyed islanders. The race seems 
destined to disappear and the government is already in 
the hands of outsiders and the monarchy hopelessly over- 
thrown. There was no doubt a necessity for it, but a 
necessity to be regretted. 

Liliuokalani is living in Honolulu at present and is 
occasionally seen driving in the streets. The young 
princess is a beautiful, finely-educated girl who has spent 
much of her life in England. 

The "Kinau" plies between Honolulu and Hilo, 
where the ascent to the volcano of Kilauea begins, a 
journey of about thirty-six hours. She is a stanch little 
vessel with an amazing talent for standing on her nose, 
floundering on her side, or pirouetting on her stern with 
little or no provocation in the way of a rough sea. It is 
hard to collect one's thoughts at an angle of forty-five 



20 



The Islands of the Pacific 

degrees, but there are many interesting things to write 
about. 

The Kinau was due to sail at ten o'clock in the morn- 
ing, but we didn't get away till noon and on the way 
outward waved good-bye to the City of Peking which 
was still in port. The dock was crowded with a truly 
miscellaneous crowd, and I was particularly interested 
in the native women who were selling long strings of 
blossoms of all colors, ingeniously fashioned into ropes 
and necklaces and hat-bands. I bought a beautiful red 
carnation "boa," and readily paid twenty-five cents for 
it, though I found afterwards that I might have had it for 
five. These strings of gay-colored flowers and garlands 
of leaves are a pretty Hawaiian fashion of saying good- 
bye, and some of the passengers were decorated with 
rope after rope of them. 

I am indebted to Mr, Sam Parker for some brilliant 
fragrant strings that came on board for him at Hakone. 
They were arranged in bouquets that looked at first like 
huge cabbages, but when a string was cut the leaves 
fell back and the ropes of blossoms were ready to be 
unwound from the center. Anyone who has read Mitch- 
ell's clever story, "Amos Judd," will remember Molly 
Cabot's amazement, when, after having woven all sorts 
of romantic conjectures around the dark-skinned, for- 
eign-looking man who stood near her, she inquired his 
name and was told that he was a Connecticut farmer 
and his name was Amos Judd. So Sam Parker is an 
ordinary and very American name to belong to the dark- 
skinned, magnificently built man who bears it. His 

21 



One Way Ro«nd the World 

grandfather, I believe, was a white man, but the rest of 
his ancestors were Hawaiian. He himself is the largest 
landowner in the islands, and has a beautiful home on 
the island of Hawaii, where the latchstring is ever out 
to his friends. 

It is to Mr. Parker, also, that I am indebted for my 
first taste of poi, pronounced poy. Poi is a peculiar, 
gray, pasty substance made from the taro plant and is 
a food much liked by the natives. It has a sour, yeasty, 
not unpleasant taste and is very wholesome. Poi was 
not on the Kinau bill of fare but Mr. Parker and a 
number of the passengers had brought some with them. 
Mr. Parker said the last time he went to the States he 
took a barrel of it with him. 

One's imagination is apt to lead one very far astray, 
but this trip among the islands is just as I had pictured 
it. They rise green and smiling from the ocean, some- 
times in abrupt cliffs, sometimes in gently sloping fields. 
The island of Maui was particularly beautiful as we 
came to it at sunset. A lowering cloud hung over the 
crest of the mountain and threw out more strongly the 
brilliant color of the slopes. They were striped by 
barren bands that showed the warm red color of the 
soil, and it was explained to me that the trade winds 
blow with such regularity that they carry the moisture 
always in the same direction. If a peak projects that 
cuts off the moisture there is a barren strip across the 
land. 

It was just at dusk that we saw a sight disti'essing to 
a lover of horses. The shores of most of the islands 

22 



The Islands of the Pacific 

will not permit so large a vessel as the Kinau to come 
up to a dock, and all the landing is done in small boats. 
As it grew dark, I was leaning against the rail watching 
the boats that had put out from the Kinau coming 
back with the passengers. Two or three times I was 
puzzled by a peculiar snorting sound that seemed to 
come from that direction and finally, looking closely, I 
saw a horse's head alongside the boat. A man at the 
prow was holding his head out of the water with a 
strap, and the poor beast was struggling along, swim- 
ming as best he could and snorting painfully as he 
swallowed gulps of salt water. When the boat came 
alongside, the man at the prow swung the horse around 
between the small boat and the Kinau' s side. The sea 
was rough and he seemed in imminent danger of being 
crushed between the boats. All the time the tedious 
and awkward work of getting him in a sling to swing 
him on board was being done, he choked and sputtered 
and swam frantically. He was hauled on board, too, 
with small courtesy and landed sprawling on the deck, 
quivering with fright. There were three horses put on 
in the same way and one of them came near drowning. 
It is the only way to carry them from one island to an- 
other, so it has to be done, but the swim is a long one 
and they are occasionally drowned, so frequently that 
the steamship company will not take any responsibility 
in the matter. Cattle are put on the same way, but 
pigs are brought out in the boats. A little later I heard 
a pig squealing lustily and looked down in time to see 



23 



One Way Round the WoAd 

a portly porker picked up by four sailors and tossed on 
board. 

Two or three times during the night I was awakened 
by those same ear-splitting, protesting yowls. Between 
times the anchor bumped up and bumped down again. 
An anchor is no doubt a very good thing at times but 
its method of getting itself up and down isn't the best 
of music to sleep by. In fact, all the comforts of home 
are not guaranteed on board the Kinau. It is said that 
her officers never admit she is rolling much unless the 
mast head dips up some sea moss. The chef was the 
high light in this truly Rembrandtish picture, for he 
gave us so many good things to eat. We tried a new 
kind of fruit that looks like a very much overgrown 
cranberry and tastes like rain-water. 

While I was sitting on deck, trying to stick to some- 
thing solid, I made the beginning of my acquaintance 
with the Gonzales family. A dai'k-eyed, olive-skinned 
little boy was sitting on a bench opposite me, looking 
rather lonesome and a bit seasick. He had an attract- 
ive, handsome little face and before long we began a 
conversation. The child had been all over the islands, 
I discovered, and could talk intelligently and entertain- 
ingly of every one of them. 

"I was born in Australia," he began, "and my father 
is a Ghileno — that means born in Chili — but I'm an 
American. I like the United States best. My name 
is Carlos Gonzales." Then he went on to tell me that 
he had lived in Australia and in the States and in South 

24 ■ 



The Islands of the Pacific 

America and in Europe, almost everywhere it seemed. 
He had nine brothers and sisters, he said, but all were 
dead except two sisters and himself. "My mother 
isn't a bit old yet," he explained. "She was married 
when she was thirteen. One of my aunts is a grand- 
mother at twenty-seven ! She was a mother at thirteen 
and her daughter was a mother at fourteen." 

Those are his words just as he chose them and I 
noticed he referred very often to his own mother and 
seemed very fond of her. Several times he spoke of 
things that he did not do because she did not think 
them nice. I thought to myself, as I listened, that the 
mother must be a very lovely woman to have such a 
well-bred, manly little son. He was taking care of 
himself because she was very seasick, and after a while 
he felt so badly himself that he curled up and took a 
nap with his head on my knee. When he awoke he 
thanked me very gravely and politely and went away to 
see his mother. The ice was broken then and a little 
later we talked a long time together while I grew more 
and more charmed with the little fellow's character. 
You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that 
his father is the manager of a variety show that is trav- 
eling in the islands and that Carlos himself is one of the 
performers. 

The father Is an interesting man who has been in 
every known, and many, to me, unknown, parts of the 
globco He seemed veiy fond of Carlos and pleased at 
the fancy I had taken to him. Once he turned to him 
and pinched his cheek lovingly. "He's a fine little fel- 



JAPAN REFERENCE 
LIBRARY 

NEW YORK 



One Way Round the World 

low, if I do say it myself," he said. "He'll tell you 
something about every place he's been. When I came 
out this time I was going to leave him in school, where 
he'd ought to be, but when I told him, the look in his 
brown eyes just cut me to the heart and I had to bring 
him along." 

Besides Carlos, there were two daughters, both very 
much like the boy, and with the same pretty manners. 
The stamp of the struggle for existence was plain upon 
all of them, the stamp of hard times and the rough life 
of second-rate variety show people, and I found myself 
wondering by what miracle they had kept a delicacy 
that was quite apparent and a lovely affection for one 
another. 

In the evening a group of passengers assembled on 
the forward deck and sat till well toward midnight, 
while Mr. Coney played the guitar and the natives sang 
some of their tuneful melodies. The Gonzales family 
were there, and Nina, a little tot of about seven, danced 
the hula for us. Her dancing was wonderful for a child, 
the expression of an innate love for music, and I shall 
long remember her swaying, graceful, wind-blown little 
figure. 

In the morning before they left us Carlos and Nina 
posed for a picture, and Carlos handed me a program 
of their entertainment. It was one of the usual flaming 
posters announcing In startling headlines the appearance 
of the wonderful Gonzales family. I squeezed tight the 
little brown hand that the little man extended to me, 
promising to leave him a picture and an American flag 

26 ■ 



The Islands of the Pacific 

pin at the hotel in Honolulu ; the picture that he might 
have a likeness of himself and Nina, and the pin because 
he is such an enthusiastic little patriot. 

It was just as they were leaving that I had my first 
and last glimpse of Mrs. Gonzales. She was a very 
badly dressed woman who looked sordid and uninterest- 
ing, the very person that one would instinctively avoid. 
But I remembered the sweet reflection of herself in the 
mind of the little boy and realized more keenly than I 
had ever done before that we may look for good in ev- 
eryone, and that the fair flower of refinement sometimes 
blooms in the most alien soil. 

In one of the much thumbed magazines in the hotel 
parlor at Hilo, I ran across these verses. What an ad- 
mirable expression of the elusive, invigorating charm of 
the sea! 

A SEA SONG. 

Away with care ! Awaj with grief ! 
Hurrah for life! Hurrah, we're free! 
Away with sorrow! Perish wrong! 
Hurrah, hurrah! The sea! The sea! 

Yo ho, the waves are dashing, 

Yo ho, the billows crashing, 

Yo ho, the spray goes flashing 
Down the bay. 

Hurrah! the gulls are winging. 
O'er bows the waves are flinging 
The cooling, pelting, stinging 
Salt sea spray. 

27 



One "Way Round the World 

Away with care! Away with grief ! 
Hurrah for life! Hurrah, we're free! 
Away with sorrow! Perish wrong! 
Hurrah, hurrah! The sea! The sea! 



The trip to Kilauea was in a way disappointing. A 
month ago the crater was very active, but now it is 
slumbering, though evidently preparing for another out- 
break. At present the famous lake of fire seems to have 
"swallered itself," like the squidgicumsquees. There 
is left only a wonderful bed of cooled lava that stretches 
away for miles, and a stupendous hole in the ground 
that sends up a cloud of sullen smoke, and one must be 
content to omit glowing lava and burning cinders. The 
proximity of a volcano where steam is blowing out of 
fissures in the lava, and the ground is hot beneath one's 
feet, is calculated to make one feel a bit pious and not 
over critical. There is never any telling what part of 
the crater may cave in at any moment, and in many 
places a rag thrown down in a crack in the lava will 
ignite immediately. It is a three mile walk across the 
bed to the yawning hole, and one is rather relieved to 
land again on terra firma, at the Volcano House, at 
least more firma than the lava bed. They look for 
earthquakes in Hawaii as we do for April showers, and 
Hilo has had as many as eighteen in thirty minutes. 

The road through the jungle from Hilo to the Vol- 
cano House, a distance of thirty miles, is up hill both 
ways apparently, from the time the lumbering stage 
takes to get over the ground. It is a charming drive, 

28 




ON THE LAVA BED 



The Islands of the Pacific 

however, with an endless feast of tropical forest, rank 
and luxuriant, filled with every kind of lacy fern and 
palm. 

The country is sparsely settled, but it is just now be- 
ginning to be opened up and there are many coffee 
plantations being started. Most of the bushes are too 
young to bear, but some of them are already five or 
six feet high, and one can see the scarlet coffee berries 
among the shining leaves. 

October yth, we are off on the Doric for Yokohama, 
and twelve days later we should see the snow capped 
peak of fair Fujiyama. The weather has been most 
amiable, and it could hardly have the heart to fail us on 
that day. 

The Doric, by the way, brings the first mail from the 
States since that we brought with us on the Peking. 
One feels very far out of the world with no mail and 
no cable. This letter must wait ten days before it starts 
eastward. 



29 



IV 

In Yokohama 

HERE we are in real Japan, where the people are so 
novel and the sights so curious that the far-away 
western world seems as illusive as "flowers in the mir- 
ror and the bright moon in the water." Everything is 
so strange that the feeling that I am dreaming never 
deserts me. Sometimes I feel like glancing cautiously 
around to make sure that my godet skirt hasn't been 
changed by some Japanese fairy godmother into a silken 
kimono, and that my leather belt is still itself instead of 
a gay colored obi, and that the kinks haven't straight- 
ened out of my hair nor my eyes tilted up, and that I 
am still my American self instead of little Miss Moon- 
shine or Miss Perfume or Miss Cherry Blossom. 

You may take this for wild exaggeration but it is the 
solemn truth. Perhaps that wonderful waste of water 
that separates us from this land of queernesses is respon- 
sible. Sailing an apparently pathless ocean for twelve 
days gives a mind constructed like a sieve time to forget 
almost everything that has ever been poured into it. By 
day, a wide sea, reflecting nothing but clouds and the 
varying tints of the sky, by night, a waving, shining 
mirror that reflects the moon and stars and loneliness. 



In Yokohama 

Not a sail, not a sign of life in all the long voyage from 
Honolulu to Yokohama. 

We steamed into port at night and our first assurance 
that unfamiliar Japan lay just beyond us was a globe of 
light on the horizon, too steady to be a star and round and 
glowing enough to make one fancy it a big paper lantern 
hung from the corner of some dipper in the sky. It was 
really the first lighthouse of Nippon, as the Japanese 
call Japan, and before long, guided by its cheery beam, 
we were safe in the harbor of Yokohama with the thou- 
sand twinkling lights of the city in crescent shape around 
us. The passengers were not permitted to land that 
night, but apparently everything else was, to judge from 
the whack ! bang ! slam ! crack ! that cannonaded over 
our heads as we tried to sleep. In port the passenger 
finds his place of importance usurped by mail and cargo 
and is apt to wish he'd come over by a postage stamp 
himself. 

Early in the morning I peered curiously through the 
port-hole that had framed so many seascapes for me and 
caught a glimpse of the low-lying green shores of Nip- 
pon. One green shore is apt to be much like another 
and I don't know that I should have recognized that one 
as foreign, but there, skimming along the water, was 
one of the square sailed little boats that I've seen sailing 
the main on so many paper fans. Without a doubt it 
was Japan. 

A little later, from the deck we had a rare view of the 
beautiful harbor full of stately men-of-war and dozens of 
other smaller craft, with lofty snow-capped Fujiyama in 

31 



One Way Round the World 

the distance. It is related that a fat and infuriated tour- 
ist who attempted to ascend fair Fujiyama referred to it 
as a disgusting mass of humbug and ashes, but he prob- 
ably thought better of his remarks when he reached sea 
level and caught his breath. Its cone-shaped slopes 
with their rim of glistening snow combine a singular 
grace and majesty and we counted it a good omen that 
the weather god slid back his screens of clouds and let 
us have our first view of the "honorable mountain" in 
clear sunshine. Everything is honorable over here, and 
you even ask the bell boy for honorable hot water, if 
your knowledge of the language permits the luxury of 
the Japanese form of speech. It maybe, too, that the 
weather god does not arrange his weather effects on 
screens and slide them back and forth, but if he does 
not he fails to conform with approved Japanese methods. 
There are so many strange things in this little land 
that a bewildered first-weeker doesn't know where to 
begin to tell about them. Like the old lady who lived 
in the shoe, I have so many impressions I don't know 
what to do. Sliding is one of them. Everything slides. 
The statement is a broad one and I might have to retract 
it in some instances, but that is a general impression. 
In the morning as you walk along the streets, the fronts of 
the houses are sliding open. Inside you can see rooms 
sliding open and shut and into one another in a most 
bewildering fashion, and I'm not sure that even whole 
houses do not accidentally slide together. This sounds 
so incredible that I shall have to explain promptly that 
Japanese houses are a flimsy combination of matting 

32 



In Yokohama 

and screens, windowless and chimneyless, suggesting 
bird-cages more than dwellings for human beings. They 
have a wooden lattice in front, and the light is admitted 
through screens of tough white Japanese paper that is 
more or less immaculate according to the dignity of the 
establishment. When curious to know what is going 
on in the street or next door, the Japanese wets the side 
of his house with his tongue, sticks his finger through it 
and calmly gazes through the aperture. Glass is be- 
ginning to be used somewhat, small squares of it being 
set in the white paper screens, but it is still such a nov- 
elty that the car windows have a line of white paint 
across them, to show that there is something there, and 
thereby prevent the people from bumping their heads or 
breaking the glass. The people slide, too. They either 
go barefoot or wear a curious white stocking with a pocket 
for their big toes, and they always walk on either straw 
or wooden clogs. The clogs have a strap, and young 
and old are very expert at twisting their big toes around 
it and holding on, but they have to walk with a peculiar 
sliding gait that is ungainly and ungraceful. On the 
hard pavements of the railway stations there arises such 
a chorus of scrapes that the noise of the little narrow- 
gauge train must feel ashamed of itself. 

I said everything slides, but I forgot the jinrikishas. 
You yourself are in some danger of sliding off the seat, 
but the jinrikisha itself has wheels, two of them. Every- 
body who has been to Japan has written about it, but, 
like love, the subject is ever new; probably no one has 
ever resisted describing the little vehicle and his first 
3 33 



One Way Round the World 

ride in one. As we emerged in Indian file from the 
clutches of the Custom House, we were confronted by 
a row of little men in toadstool hats and puckered pan- 
taloons, who cried out persuasively, "Riksha? Riksha?" 
pointing to a curious combination of a baby carriage 
and a sulky that stood just behind them. We hadn't 
read up on Japan for nothing, so we hailed our men 
like veterans and clambered in. I found myself wonder- 
ing whether we would next be presented with a rattle 
and rubber ring, but they picked up the shafts sedately 
and started down the Bund, a promenade along the sea 
wall, at a brisk run. My runner sped along so easily 
and his muscular legs looked so strong, that I forgot to 
feel sorry for him as I had expected, and enjoyed my- 
self instead. We rode up with a flourish to the Grand 
Hotel, a famous hostelry where everybody goes in 
Yokohama, kept by an affable German, and very un- 
Japanese. The Wise One and I wish we had the cour- 
age of our convictions, and we would stop at Japanese 
inns and see more of the life of the people there ; but 
no one who has not tried it knows how nearly impossi- 
ble it is to give up one's habits of living and adapt one's 
self to a different order of things. Beds and chairs and 
tables are luxuries that we forget to be thankful for ex- 
cept when we haven't them, and my recollection of my 
first Japanese meal leaves me no desire for another 
course of mysteries. 

Yokohama we found delightful. I wish we could 
keep the freshness of our interest with us always, but it 

34 



In Yokohama 

is sure to slip away. Like the etching there is nothing 
quite equal to the first, the artist's proof, and it is Yoko- 
hama that will remain clearest in memory. 

We strolled up and down the narrow streets picking 
up curios that sti'uck our fancy, never tiring of the 
quaint little open shops with their matting floors, big 
fire pots and vases of chrysanthemums. They are all 
decorated with blue strips of cloth covered with white 
characters which presumably tell the names of the firms 
and the character of the merchandise. These waving 
banners give a festive appearance to the street, and the 
silk shops have the most realistic side show effects. I 
never could get over the feeling that I had forgotten to 
pay the admission. The godowns are another curios- 
ity, heavy fire-proof warehouses apparently so named 
because they are the only things that do not go down in 
the case of fire. The merchants store their best goods 
in these godowns, and carry them out into the shops 
when customers appear. The Benten-dori and the 
Honcho-dori are the principal shopping streets where 
you can buy everything Japanese, from delicate ivory 
carvings and rich embroideries to egg-shell porcelain 
and wondrous cloisonnd. 

One morning, as we were rikshaing to the Benten- 
dori for a shopping jaunt, we passed a curious procession 
in the street. First came two or three dozen blue and 
white-coated Japs canying enormously tall blue banners 
decorated with every conceivable nightmare of the al- 
phabet in staring white. The usual crowd of small boys 
attended the advance guard — but such small boys! — 

35 



One Way Roond the World 

Animated posters every one of them, dressed in every 
color of the rainbow, clumping along with a tremendous 
clatter on their high wooden clogs. A funeral! thought 
I, for it much resembled a funeral procession that had 
been pointed out to me, at a distance, the day before. 
The position was admirable for a snap shot, for the 
group of banners was followed by a inysteriously orna- 
mented wagon that v/as attracting the respectful atten- 
tion of passersby. I pressed the button. A closer in- 
spection revealed little that I had expected and much 
that I had not. The lower part of the wagon was so 
concealed with ornaments and hieroglyphics that the 
interior couldn't be seen, but a familiar device on the 
top sent a chill along my spine. It was a pasteboard 
imitation of a huge arm, brandishing a battle ax. Let 
us hope for the best, but to this day I am not sure 
whether that brilliant procession with its banners, its 
kaleidoscopic colors and its delicious small boys was a 
funeral procession or an advertisement of Battle Ax 
plug tobacco. 

It is a matter of everlasting regret that I haven't a 
photograph as a clue. Japan is not a paradise for snap 
shots, and the camera manufacturers warn the amateurs 
against disaster. The sun rarely shines brightly enough 
for good results. It is particularly unfortunate, too, for 
though the Japanese understand the mechanical process 
of photography admirably they have little taste in the 
selection of subjects and no appreciation of the charm 
of naturalness. There are few photographs of street 
scenes to be found in the shops and almost none of chil- 

36 



In Yokohama 

dren, while the background of the Japanese lady at 
home is apt to show the edges of the photographer's 
screens and the jinrikisha runner has a palpably manu- 
factured Fujiyama rising conspicuously just over his left 
shoulder. 

"And so you have the great Ito for your guide," said 
an English woman to me at breakfast. "Really you 
are fortunate, unless his reputation gained through Miss 
Bird has spoiled him." 

We made our acqi:aintance with Ito when he was 
shown up to our rooms at the Grand Hotel soon after 
our arrival — a most fascinating little figure, short even 
for a Jap, dressed in full Japanese silk costume, a har- 
mony of soft grey-blues. He entered in a series of 
wonderful bows, so low that I'm sure he couldn't have 
lowered them a sixteenth of an inch more if I had been 
the Queen of England. When he finally came back to 
first position, he at once began to state the object of his 
call, in quaint, refined English, and when he had pre- 
sented his card and credentials, explained his duties as 
a guide, and expressed a wish that he might accompany 
us, he bowed all the way out from the center of the 
room again and retired. We were so pleased with 
him that we could hardly wait for the time appointed 
next day when we should complete arrangements. The 
only trouble, we decided, would be to live up to Ito. 
An innate gentleness and polish seemed to belong in a 
superlative degree to the dear little man in flowing robes 
and sandaled feet, and on the question of bows we were 

37 



One Way Round the World 

bound to be distanced. What was our dismay when 
Ito appeared next day in the prosaic European costume, 
sadly commonplace in comparison with the day before, 
but still polite and prepossessing. We remonstrated 
with him for changing his clothes, but he explained 
that the European style of dress is much more conveni- 
ent for traveling, and with a sigh we relinquished the 
ideal for the practical. 

Of course, 'twould be more independent, or, at least 
more out of the ordinary, to travel without a guide ; 
but when one's Japanese vocabulary is limited and 
one's appetite is good, an assistant is necessary. Al- 
ready Ito has proved himself useful and agreeable, and 
has saved us a world of bother, to say nothing of his be- 
ing a peripatetic guide book, a complete substitute for 
our red-backed Murray. Eighteen years ago, Ito was 
only a lad, but as servant and guide to Miss Isabella 
Bird, he was so efficient and faithful, so alert and in- 
telligent in conducting her through "Unbeaten Tracks 
in Japan" that he won for himself the distinction of 
great praise in that charming book, and has ever since 
been constantly in demand as the most desirable of 
Japanese guides. 

We are spending the night in Tokyo, on our way to 
Nikko in the mountains. The autumn foliage is just 
now in full glory and we want to see it at its best. 



38 



Japanese Customs and Beliefs 

THERE is a Japanese proverb: "Nikko no mi nai 
uchi wa, 'Kekko' to ui na!" "Do not use the 
word magnificent till you have seen Nikko!" I didn't 
translate it myself but have it upon Ito's authority. You 
can not imagine the strange Babes-in-the-Wood sensa- 
tion of being dependent on another person for every 
word that you wish to speak or understand. I have 
learned "Ohayo," pronounced "Ohio" which means 
good morning, and there, with the addition of "Ikura," 
how much, and "Sayonara," good-bye, my vocabulary 
rests for the present. It is true that I have learned to 
count quite glibly up to a hundred, but as I have never 
yet understood a number when attached to yen and sen, 
dollars and cents, they haven't been valuable. Japanese 
names of places seem to be as slippery as their favorite 
eels and it is only by a strenuous effort that the arrange- 
ment of the syllables is persuaded to stay by me. Tokyo 
and Kyoto, for instance, are the same syllables in different 
order, and there are many more intricate resemblances. 
The mere mention of some of our mistakes is a signal 
for hilarity. In Tokyo we called upon Mr. Montono, 
Secretary to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, to whom 

?9 



One Way Round the World 

we had a letter of introduction some two or three yards 
long. Before we left I narrowly escaped calling that 
august gentleman Mr. Kimono, a kimono being the 
long, loose outer garment that Japanese men and 
women wear. Ito mixes up with Nikko, Myanoshita 
is warranted unrememberable, and so on ad infinitum. I 
credit myself with the discovery that some of our 
American slang has come to us from Japan. Our ex- 
pression "all hunky dory" might easily be a corruption 
of Honchodori, Yokohama's swagger business street, 
and when we call a man a great gun we are probably 
comparing him to the illustrious shoguns of this country. 
Chuzenji we remember by "choose N. G.," and that 
reminds me that it was Chuzenji and Nikko that I began 
to talk about. 

The province of Nikko is famous for its temples and 
the glorious tints of its autumn foliage, and as the tints 
are just now in full brilliancy, we hurried north from 
Yokohama, stopping only a day in Tokyo, that we 
might see them at their best. Truly one would have to 
reserve magnificent and a good many superlative adjec- 
tives beside, to describe them. Yesterday we went to 
Chuzenji, a day's ride in jinrikishas, and for miles along 
these beautiful valleys the mountains are one blaze of 
gorgeous color. I don't think that Jack Frost dips 
his brush in his paint box any more lavishly than in 
our own Indiana, but we haven't the mountain slopes to 
unfurl his banners on. It was an enchanting day, a 
perfect riot of color and sunshine. When we rode in 
under the trees the branches laced themselves above 

40 



Japanese Customs and Beliefs 

our heads like a gay-hued parasol, and when we came 
suddenly upon a long vista, as we did many times, we 
could see the mountains in carnival array for miles, 
dotted with foaming, splashing mountain torrents. 

The road is a steep, rocky, mountain path, badly 
washed by the late disastrous floods, and it remains a 
marvel to me how my runners ever got me up and 
down it alive. There were three of them to each jinrik- 
isha and they pushed me up places that I could scarce- 
ly have dragged myself alone. They tug and strain and 
pull uncomplainingly, singing a monotonous, meaning- 
less chant, and of course they are muscular and hard- 
ened to it, but one has only to look at them, dripping 
with perspiration and panting for breath when they stop 
for a short rest, to see that they do desperately hard 
work. The poor fellows have only rice to eat, which 
isn't sustaining enough for such violent exertion, and 
they rarely live to be more than forty years old, usually 
dying of heart disease. Occasionally my sympathy 
would be too great and I'd get out and walk, but the 
climb was so fatiguing that I'd soon have to get in 
again. These coolies are only paid forty cents, gold, a 
day, but you may be sure we sent them on their way 
rejoicing with a liberal fee. 

We lunched at Chuzenji, on the bank of a lovely lake 
that is hemmed in on all sides by the same frost-fres- 
coed mountains which reflect their colors in metallic 
glints in the clear water. After lunch we visited an- 
other of the innumerable temples of the district, and 
saw the sacred mountain, the Mecca of Japanese pil- 

41 



One "Way Round the World 

grims, with its grand old head in a silvery cloud. The 
ride up had been rough enough but the ride down was 
worse. Every step of the coolies meant a more or less 
vicious jolt for me, and last night as I rubbed my ach- 
ing muscles, I didn't know which I felt sorriest for, my 
worn out runners or myself! Yet somebody dared to 
call jinrikisha riding the poetry of locomotion! How 
fortunate it is that the beauties and pleasures of travel- 
ing remain in the memory and the discomforts are so 
easily forgotten. I shall remember the day as enchant- 
ing, a little journey into fairyland, and the weariness is 
already gone. 

It is our good fortune to be in Nikko for a special 
festival, and we have seen a number of the royal princes 
and princesses. This morning we saw a procession go 
over the sacred bridge of red lacquer over which only 
royalty is allowed to pass. I noticed that the coolies 
who were canying the palanquins as well as other at- 
tendants were allowed to pass over the bridge, and I 
asked Ito if they did not consider it a great honor to 
have crossed it. He shrugged his shoulders. "They 
do not care," he said. "Why should they? We, in 
Japan, do not care for things that are not for us. If 
this or that is for the gods, well, let it be so. It is only 
Americans who wish much to do what they must not." 
I accepted the estimate of my countrymen meekly for I 
had been thinking, not three minutes before, that I 
should like to go across the bridge. "Why?" as Ito 
said. 

They are having the celebration here — celebration i* 
42 



Japanese Ctfstoms and Beliefs 

hardly the word, for it is more like a funeral to the 
Japanese — because they are bringing back the teeth and 
Buddha bone (Adam's apple) of two of the royal 
princes, who died in Formosa during the war, to de- 
posit them in a temple here among the mausoleums of 
the shoguns. The processions have been circuses for 
for us, however. Such costumes, such people, such 
music ! Pitti Sings and Kokos and Peep Boos in real 
life, even a shade more whimsical than they were in the 
tuneful "Mikado." Indeed, I think I should have to 
live here a long time before I could realize that these 
active little people are anything more than large editions 
of the Japanese dolls with which we are familiar. The 
children are exact fac-similes of them. The women 
are not so beautiful nor even so pretty as many 
hysterical books on Japan would lead one to believe, 
but they are cunning and charming. Their hair is a 
marvel. It is greased to make it as black and as straight 
as possible, and then it is arranged in elaborate puffs 
and coils, a style that seems particularly suited to Jap- 
anese features. Oddly enough, the little women are 
prettiest when they are rouged and powdered. The 
rice powder gives a creamy matte appearance to their 
smooth skins, and a touch of carmine accentuates the 
curves of their pretty lips. Just underneath the lower 
lip they often have a flake of gold leaf. Perhaps it is 
because there is no pretense at naturalness, that the 
rouge is not offensive as with us. They are frankly 
painted and it suits them. 

The grown-up princesses in the procession were dressed 
43 



One Way Round the "World - 

in European toilettes fresh from Paris and sadly unbe- 
coming to them, but the little girls wore rich costumes 
of flowered crepe and their satiny hair was arranged in 
marvelous wheels. Their skins were smoothly pow- 
dered and their lips brightly tinted, and altogether they 
were as dainty little maidens as one could wish to see. 
I'm afraid though, that with those wheels and loops and 
puffs of hair to take care of, they don't have as good 
times as our own little girls. 

The last of the deposed shoguns is still living, and 
his son, who is now a member of parliament, w^as one 
of the party — a stout, uninteresting individual in badly 
fitting European clothes. It is to be hoped that the re- 
action against European dress will continue to react and 
that the Japanese will not persist in wearing a costume 
in which they are so insignificant, instead of their own 
graceful stjde. 

The temples of Nikko describe themselves better in 
photographs than I could hope to describe them in 
words. In architecture they are like nothing I have 
seen, wonderfully elaborate and yet stamped with a cer- 
tain sobriety that is noticeable in Japanese taste, which 
makes their decorations elegant instead of gaudy. The 
interiors of the temples are one mass of lacquer and 
color and gold so skillfully combined and relieved that 
the effect is perfect. 

The difference in architecture enables one to distin- 
guish the Shinto from the Buddhist temples, but to dis- 
tinguish the religion is another pair of sleeves, as the 
French say. Shintoism and Buddhism once became so 

44 



Japanese Customs and Beliefs 

badly mixed up in Japan that it took an emperor's edict 
to "purify" and separate them. Now the Shinto tem- 
ples are severely plain, with only a round mirror and 
strips of white paper at the altar, emblems of self-ex- 
amination and purity of life. The reputed divine an- 
cestress of the Mikado, Ten Sho Dai Jin (great goddess 
of the celestial effulgence!) is the chief deity. Three 
commandments were issued in 1873 as a basis of this 
made-over Shinto and national religion, 

1. Thou shalt honor the gods and love thy country. 

2. Thou shalt clearly understand the principles of 
heaven and the duty of man. 

3. Thou shalt revere the emperor as thy sovereign 
and obey the will of his court. 

Whether these mixed up people ever untangled their 
beliefs I do not know, but I suspect that they did not, 
for in spite of the purification. Buddhism remains the 
more powerful religion. The Buddhist temples are 
very ornate and contain much beautiful work in metals 
and carved wood. The images of Buddha are guarded 
by a stork and lotus, and often the image is seated on a 
lotus flower. As the exquisitely pure and fragrant lotus 
grows out of the mud of the pond, so, they think, the 
human mind should rise above earthly conditions into 
the pure region of spiritual life. Theirs seems to be a 
beautiful religion in theory but not in practice, and 
many of their texts are so profound that they make me 
laugh. Here's one of them: "Naught is everywhere 
and always, and is full of illusion." Who would not 



45 



One "Way Round the "World 

long for a dreamless Nirvana if given much of that kind 
of spiritual food? 

Of course w^e went to the tomb of leyasu, in Nikko, 
a climb of 7,631 steps — that is, I didn't count them, but 
I'm sure there were no fewer. All of these temples are 
at the tip top of a steep hill, and unless one's religious 
convictions are unusually strong, one is apt to grumble 
a good deal before the last one is crossed off the list, 
leyasu was a much revered shogun warrior, the Napo- 
leon of Japan, whose spirit is still thought to roam over 
the earth, I believe, for a sacred horse is kept in a sacred 
stable in the temple yard, so that he may have it handy 
when he needs it. We bought the sacred horse some 
sacred beans which he gobbled up as unceremoniously 
as any unsanctified horse would have done, and nickered 
for more. Three carved monkeys on a panel of this 
sacred stable illustrate a Japanese maxim. One holds 
his ears, another covers his eyes and the third holds his 
hands over his lips, for the proverb runs, "Hear not too 
much, see not too much, speak not too much." Just 
in front of the stable there is a tall tree which leyasu is 
said to have carried around in a flower pot when he was 
on earth. On the opposite side of the court we threw 
an offering to a weird little priestess in flowing white 
garments who rose wearily and danced a sacred dance, 
gracefully waving a fan and some tinkling bells — not to 
amuse or edify us, if you please, but the spirit of the 
departed leyasu. 

And the trees. If I haven't told you of the evergreens 
till now, it is not that I have forgotten them. Would 

46 



Japanese Customs and Beliefe 

that I could put a window in my letter and let you see 
for yourselves the regal groves of lofty cryptomerias 
that cluster round the temples and rise majestically be- 
yond them in slopes of dark, rich green. There is a 
stateliness and beauty about them that is indescribable, 
and in sunshine or in shade they are one long feast of 
loveliness to the eyes. The groves could spare the tem- 
ples, but the temples could illy spare the groves. The 
climate of Nikko is even more tearful than that of 
the rest of Japan, and all growing things spring up in 
rank luxuriance. Everything is beautifully green. A 
hundred feathery mosses cling to the damp walls, and 
embroider fanciful designs on the carved stone lanterns. 
It is a wonderfully effective setting for this rare handi- 
work of man, a glory of art and nature that is a sermon. 



47 



VI 

Tokyo and Elsewhere 

WHILE I am waiting for a half-past seven dinner 
that is a good hour behind my appetite, I'll chat 
with my Indiana friends and enliven the delay. It is 
too bad that writing when one is traveling can not always 
be done when one is fresh, and before a sharp impres- 
sion on the retina of the mind has been dimmed by an- 
other and still another. My inspirations are never over 
lustrous, but I trust this is one of those comfortable cor- 
respondences where my readers will sift out the ideas, if 
there are any, and pardon the slip when there are none, 
so that I may go zigzagging from one topic to another 
with as little regard for order as Japanese fields have 
when they go zigzagging over the landscape. 

We came away from lovely Nikko, leaving several 
waterfalls unvisited. We might have entertained our- 
selves there indefinitely, visiting the beautiful glens of 
the neighborhood, but, as the Wise One says, the w-ater 
falls in Japan much the same as it does in America, and 
it is the people we want to see. We reveled again in 
the toy railway that runs from Nikko to Tokyo, and 
made merry over the teacups. Tea! Tea! Tea! I'm 
sure we have drank enough to float a ship already. 

48 



Tokyo and Elsewhere 

When you enter your compartment in the train, you find 
the inevitable tea table with a kettle of boiling water 
and a supply of tea ready to be served to the passen- 
gers. The Japanese decoction tastes more like stewed 
grass than anything else and is served without milk or 
sugar, so we sugar lovers have to draw on our supply of 
bonbons to sweeten it. Every time I taste it, I vow 
that I'll never be led into that same indiscretion again, 
but the next time I am sure to be beguiled by the one- 
armed little teapot and the little handleless cups and the 
smiling little handmaiden who offers it, and take another 
dose. You see that the word "little" is apt to be very- 
much overworked in telling of Japan. Everything is 
diminutive, almost nothing grand or great. You seem 
to be looking at the place through the wrong end of an 
opera glass. It has all the charm of a miniature. 

The territory between Nikko and Yokohama is one 
great garden, stretching away in unfamiliar, irregular 
fields of rice and taro and lotus, with occasional clumps 
of tea bushes and groves of fantastic pines and feathery 
bamboo ; all cultivated by hand with primitive agri- 
cultural implements. Men and women work in the 
/ields, bareheaded and barefooted always, some of them 
coming perilously near being barefooted all over. One 
only needs to travel to learn that the term propriety is 
entirely relative. You must readjust your opera glasses 
on that subject, too. We are here in the cold season, 
when the most clothing is worn, yet we see men work- 
ing in the blacksmith shops in the open street in the 
costume of Adam before the fall, and men and women 

4 49 



One "Way Roond the World 

bathing unconcernedly scarcely six feet away from the 
passersby. They see absolutely no impropriety in that, 
yet are wonderfully shocked at some customs introduced 
by Europeans, dancing, for instance. It is a queer 
world, is it not? 

Even in this cold weather, when we are wearing our 
warmest clothing, our coolies sometimes wear only a thin 
cotton jacket. I have seen them shaking with cold be- 
fore starting, but they are soon perspiring in streams 
when they get to work. Another time I shall tell you 
about what these and other laborers are paid. Just a 
few things more about the country and we'll arrive at 
Tokyo. 

The country houses are picturesque little buildings 
with wonderfully heavy thatched roofs, often two feet 
thick, that sometimes have a festive little garden grow- 
ing along the ridge. They have the same paper screens 
and clean mats, even though the whole family and the 
farm animals as well are living under the same roof. 
No wonder one is in danger of being bamboozled in a 
country where bamboo is used for everything; furni- 
ture, water pipes, fences, buckets, weather boarding, 
laths, canes, baskets, umbrella ribs, lanterns, twine, 
roofing, nails — and now I've just begun ! When it is 
young the shoots are eaten as we eat asparagus, and the 
tough fullgrown poles are turned into everything from 
delicate carving to the heavy supports of dwellings. The 
rice fields are very curious to us, too. Rice will only 
grow in water, so the fields have to lie in the lowlands 
where they can be flooded and the workers stand up to 

50 



Tokyo and Elsewhere 

their knees in slimy mud. It is first sown in seed and 
then transplanted to the water fields, a tedious, weary 
process. When the shoots are young and low the water 
is plainly seen, but when the grain is ready for cutting 
it has grown tall and thick, and does not look unlike 
our wheat fields at home. 

Never in my life have I been in a place where one's 
slightest wants presented such enormous difficulties and 
where there is such a superb indifference to the flight 
of time. Yokohama seemed strange to us at first, but 
I regard it as the acme of civilization since I have been 
to Tokyo. For one thing, we were very unfortunate 
about our guide. Our treasure, Ito, was taken very ill 
when v*^e had barely gotten through congratulating our- 
selves on having him, and had to go to a hospital in 
Tokyo, leaving us to the tender mercies of Matsu. 
Matsu meant well, I think, but it was utterly impossi- 
ble either to get anything into his head or out of it and 
we exchanged him as politely and as soon as possible 
for Suzuki, who is delightful, bright and willing, 
speaking English very well, and we pray nothing will 
prevent his accompanying us as far as Nagasaki, where 
we sail for Shanghai. 

Matsu was with us all the time we were in Tokyo, 
and oh, what circuses we had in that never-ending, be- 
wildering city, trying to find out where we were going 
and what we were seeing. Once we were uncertain 
whether we had arrived at the houses of parliament or 
a wall paper factory. If I lived there forever I should 

51 



One "Way Round the "World 

not try to get that maze of a map in my mind. I 
shouldn't have room for anything else. Imagine a one- 
storied city of a million and a half souls, plentifully in- 
terspersed with gardens and parks, moats within moats 
and even wide fields that suggest the open country, and 
think what magnificent distances it could afford. The 
streets are wide and laid out like a spider web, and the 
"man power carriage" (literal translation of jinrikisha) is 
the only way of riding, so you may count on one, two, 
three hours traveling from the time you leave your 
hotel till you get to the place you are going to visit. 
Nothing about Tokyo suggests a city except the tram- 
cars in the main street, into which you wouldn't ven- 
ture. It is always through a quaint, never-ending vil- 
lage that you seem to be going, with the same little 
shops and unreadable signs and strange little people 
clumping along on their clogs or standing in groups smil- 
ingly chattering a queer unknown tongue until they catch 
sight of yourself, and then they all stop what they are 
doing, even the babies, and stare at the wonderful spec- 
tacle that you yourself present. It never ceases to amuse 
me that I am much more of a curiosity to them than 
they are to me. One afternoon we went out to Asakusa, 
a big public park, where we were followed around all 
the time by at least two hundred round-eyed, astonished 
Japs, who stared at me in frank, childish amazement, 
and evidently commented wonderingly on my clothes. If 
I stopped for a moment, they crowded around so close 
that I could hardly move on again. One little girl 
looked at me earnestly for several minutes and then ran 

52 



Tokyo and Elsewhere 

away as fast as she could. In a minute she returned 
leading a still smaller child by the hand and showed me 
to him, with explanations. Some of the children were 
afraid and scampered away as fast as they could if I 
turned in their direction. Everywhere the mothers ran 
to get their children to see us and sometimes the babies 
screamed with fright. Paterfamilias does not attract so 
much attention, for a few Japanese men wear European 
clothes, and many of them are already wearing grotesque 
pass^ derby hats and every conceivable monstrosity in 
the way of caps. But the hats and dresses of the Wise 
One and myself are a wonderful sight for them. Some 
jeweled trimming on an old velvet cape of mine which, 
by the way, hails from Indianapolis, seems to please them 
immensely and they often walk up, eye it admir- 
ingly, and rub it gently and turn it over chattering 
among themselves. I imagine they think they are real 
jewels and take me for at least a rajah's daughter. In 
the tea houses they ask me, through our interpreter, how 
much it cost, and invariably give vent to round oh's of 
astonishment when I tell them the rather modest sum I 
paid for it. I am told that the Japanese mean it as a 
compliment when they ask you what a thing costs or 
what your income is, for that shows a personal interest 
in your affairs. It is pleasant to be in a land where 
one's old clothes are so appreciated. 

It seems to me that nowhere is there so much im- 
portance attached to dress as in America, and in the 
cramped space allotted me for logic, I have been try- 
ing to find a reason for it. In Europe and here in the 

53 



One Way Round the World 

Orient so many charming and refined people, trav- 
elers from all lands of the globe, are, according to our 
standards, badly dressed — in materials and making in- 
ferior to what our middle class consider necessary for 
their position. Their attitude might be described as 
indifferent. I have opined, that in America, though 
we admit it reluctantly, where we have no aristocracy, 
the standard of position is largely that of money, and so 
there is a greater effort made to dress elegantly than in 
parts of the world where classes are more clearly de- 
fined. The Japanese give us an example in their lack 
of ostentation, freedom from the capricious rule of 
fashion, and simplicity of housekeeping and social life. 
However, though I observe and deduce, I'm true to 
American traditions. The trouble is that I shall have 
a gaping hole where a pocketbook ought to be when I 
get back to Paris and furbelows, if I continue to be be- 
guiled by these tempting things in the Orient. Japan 
is bad enough and China, Siam, Ceylon and India are 
yet to be weathered. Everything is incredibly cheap. 
The Japanese do not know how to work badly. "The 
gods see inside," says the workman as he carefully fin- 
ishes his piece of pottery or lacquer work, and as labor 
is so pitifully cheap, you can buy a thousand of their 
dainty fashionings, perfect in design and workmanship, 
for a few sen in the shops. Even the guide book says : 
"Any one who has money in his purse should not fail 
to visit the fascinating shops of Kyoto." In Yoko- 
hama I bought a wadded red silk cr6pe dressing sacque 
lined with silk and beautifully and elaborately embroid- 

54 



Tokyo and Elsewhere 

ered with chrysanthemums for three dollars, gold. That 
is only an instance of the prices. Probably if I had been 
a more clever bargainer I might have had the dressing 
sacque for two dollars and fifty cents. These merchants 
sell for what they can get. They gauge your desire for 
the article to a nicety. As Sarah Jeannette Duncan 
says, "They anticipate your ideas even when you haven't 
any." Then you must do a deal of polite haggling if 
you wish to get the article at anywhere near a reasona- 
ble price, that is, a reasonable profit for the merchant, 
and no matter what you finally pay you are uncomforta- 
bly sure that the beady-eyed little heathen has got the 
better of you. 

We saw Tokyo in all its moods while we were there. 
In bright sunshine, when it was gay and cheery, then 
gray and slashed with rain drops, with the pebbly streets 
a sea of mud and full of big oiled paper umbrellas held 
closely over shuffling figures in gray kimonos and high 
clogs suggesting a lot of toadstools out on a lark. Oc- 
casionally, we would pass a little man who looked as if 
he had jumped into a haystack by mistake, but he was 
only wearing an approved Japanese mackintosh made 
of rice straw. 

We did our duty as conscientious sight-seers, visiting 
the chrysanthemum show, Ueno Park, the Shiba tem- 
ples and bazaar, the government printing office, the ar- 
senal gardens and all the rest. The chrysanthemum 
show was a grievous disappointment to all of us. We 
had expected specimens of rare and beautiful blossoms, 

55 



One "Way Round the "World 

but had to content ourselves with curious figures formed 
of the growing plants twisted into shape ; ingenious, 
certainly, but stiff and ugly. There were scenes from 
the theater, many gruesome ones of executions, tea 
houses with geisha dancers, waterfalls, tidal waves and 
earthquakes, all fashioned of blossoms after the people's 
own peculiar ideas. The figure I liked best was a like- 
ness of Japan's famous actor, Dan-juro. The show 
was not in a big building but in a lot of little booths, 
along a hilly street, into which two cents admittance 
was paid. The figures were arranged on circular plat- 
forms that slowly revolved, giving two separate scenes 
for your investment. 

As at Asakasu, we found ourselves the center of at- 
traction, more of a show than the chrysanthemums. 

And just here let me set down our undying gratitude 
to dear, lively Mrs. Nishigawa, our table companion on 
the Doric, and our good friend, who so kindly steered 
us through the shoals of royal etiquette and made our 
stay in Tokyo doubly pleasant. Mrs. Nishigawa is an 
Englishwoman who married a Japanese and has lived 
for years in Tokyo, where she has a charming little 
English home in the heart of Japandom, and where we 
met her interesting family. She knows everyone and 
has evidently captivated everyone as she did us by her 
wit and grace. It was she who taught her Majesty the 
Empress, English, so she knows all about the royal 
family, and is well acquainted with all the chamberlains 
and equerries and what not dignitaries that mix them- 
selves up in my democratic mind. 

5^ 



vn 

The Mikado's Birthday 

IT was due to Mrs. Nishigawa that we had tickets for 
the legation tent for the review on the emperor's 
birthday. This was November third. Early in the morn- 
ing we were off from the hotel. It had threatened rain 
the night before but the morning came clear, frosty and 
cloudless. The streets were gay with flags, a big red 
disc on a white ground, and as we drew near the parade 
ground we were jostled by a lively, bustling, holiday 
crowd, all eager for a glimpse of the Mikado. Finally 
we came out on the great open field, where infantry and 
artillery and cavalry were already grouping themselves 
for the review, and scurried across to the tent next to 
the one decorated with the conventional chrysanthemum, 
which was reserved for the emperor. While we were 
awaiting his arrival we had plenty to divert us. Never 
have I seen so much brilliancy in the way of medals 
and gold lace and embroidery. As we sat there the 
military and naval attaches of the different legations 
appeared in resplendent uniforms, then the ministers 
and their suites in court costumes, then many Japanese 
officers and generals. The Corean minister and his 
suite wore curious costumes of blue and green change- 
able silk adorned with a square set just between the 

57 



One "Way Rownd the "World 

shoulders, embroidered with storks. On their heads 
they wore a device that looked more like a fly trap than 
anything else American, and around their waists they 
had a wondrous jeweled belt that was about the diame- 
ter of a barrel hoop. The Chinese minister came along 
as I was standing beside Mrs. Nishigawa and stopped 
to pay his respects. He had a beautiful robe of rich 
brocaded silk and a little black cap with a red knob, 
and as he walked away Mrs. Nishigawa murmured, 
"Do you know I never can help wishing for one of those 
robes for a drapeiy." The rest of the representatives 
wore uniforms of one sort or another. I most admired 
the naval attache of the Spanish legation, a beautiful 
combination of red and blue and black embroidei'ed 
with silver fleur-de-lis, and crowned with a jaunty hat 
of black and silver on which there trembled a bunch of 
snow white cock's plumes. Pardon me for speaking of 
the attache as if he were only a uniform, a clothes 
horse, as Carlyle says, on which clothes are hung. Of 
the man I know nothing, as I didn't happen to meet 
him, but he had a dissipated, blas& face, a type only too 
common among the foreigners in the East. 

There was a great deal of hand-shaking and bowing 
and cigarette-smoking among this glittering little coterie, 
and a hum of conversation in all languages, much of it 
being sadly butchered. Suddenly a silence fell upon 
all. There was a distant sound of bugles, then the 
swelling notes of the national hymn, then a dashing line 
of carriages that sped across the field toward us. Two 
or three of them passed us and stopped just beyond the 

58 



The Mikado's Bifthday 

next tent. There was a whisper "Not yet! Not yet!" 
Then with a dash of outriders, the standard bearer of 
the royal sixteen-petaled chrysanthemum appeared, and 
just behind him, in a gorgeous carriage of state, sat the 
Dragon Eye, divine descendant of the Sun Goddess, the 
Mikado himself! 

He is an emperor whom one can justly praise ; inter- 
esting not only for what he represents, but for what he 
is, a man whose short life-time has seen almost miracu- 
lous changes in his country, changes for which his 
broad mind is largely responsible. He is the idol of 
his people and they blindly follow where he leads. Dur- 
ing the war he went to Hiroshima, where he could have 
the first despatches from the scene of action, and lived 
like the commonest soldier, refusing fire and anything 
but the plainest food, sitting all day on a rough wooden 
chair, consulting with his advisers. When urged to 
take better care of himself he replied: "Should not I 
too make sacrifices when my children are suffering.?" 
The empress also seems to be a rarely lovely character. 
She is widely charitable from her personal fortune, and 
while the emperor was at Hiroshima, she and the ladies 
of her court busied themselves preparing lint and ban- 
dages and visiting the wounded and dying. She also 
gave artificial limbs to all who had to have limbs am- 
putated, to the Japanese and to the Chinese captives 
alike. Mrs. Nishigawa told me that years ago she had 
Miss Strickland's "Lives of England's Queens" trans- 
lated into Japanese for her majesty ; that it seemed to 
make a profound impression on her, and that she be- 

59 



One "Way Round the World 

lieved it had greatly hifluenced her life. The Japanese 
believe their emperor to have descended in unbroken 
line from the sun goddess who came down to earth 
some thousands of years ago, and no more than a gen- 
eration back the Mikado v\^as kept in a sacred palace in 
Tokyo, guarded by moats, and looked upon as a divin- 
ity. It was thought by the people that to look upon his 
face meant death. What a remarkable change there 
has been, then, that this monarch of the present day 
should review his troops, equipped with European arms, 
he himself dressed in a uniform of European style, with 
his people all around him. 

There is always a double influence in a great review 
for me, exhilarating and the reverse. The music and 
the banners and the rhythmic beat of the troops are all 
inspiring, but I always think, with a shiver, of the 
wicked work those fields of shining spears could do, 
and of the bloody cause they really represent. It is a 
grim necessity that calls for all that brilliancy and that 
mechanical precision. 

There were six thousand men out that day, and after 
riding around the field accompanied by his generals, the 
Mikado reviewed the troops, again got into his carriage, 
and, with another flourish, outriders and standard bear- 
ers and the gorgeous carriage were off, as they had 
come. I was disappointed not to see our Minister Dun 
at the review. He does not often go and was not there 
this year. Had he been present he would have been a 
conspicuous member of that beplumed and bedecked 
company, conspicuous for the lack of galloon and gold 

60 




THE PAGODA AT NIKKO 



— -« 



The Mikado's Birthday 

lace, for the United States prescribes for a court cos- 
tume the conventional black evening dress. 

That night we went to the ball. Minister Dun was 
there, by the way, and danced in the cotillon with a lit- 
tle Japanese woman not even so high as his heart. He 
is fond of a joke, and when I told him that he danced 
like a fairy he asked me what it was that I wanted him 
to do for me. 

The grand ball was given at the Hotel Imperial, where 
we were stopping, so we were saved any awkward de- 
mand for evening cloaks and hoods which are not apt 
to be found in round-the-world trunks. As it was, the 
Wise One and I donned our prettiest evening frocks, 
which carried us through quite complacently. The ball 
was given by the Count Okuma, Minister of Foreign 
Affairs, and the Countess Okuma, in honor of the em- 
peror's birthday. I don't know how we came to be 
honored with invitations, for they were not to be had 
for the asking. Probably it was that four or five yards 
of letter that we had to Mr. Montono. At any rate, the 
invitations came, written in French, askingthat Monsieur, 
Madame and Mademoiselle Sweetser would do the Count 
and Countess Okuma the honor of passing the evening 
of November third with them, and announcing in small 
letters at the bottom that "L. L. A. A. J. J. les princes et 
les princesses, would honor the function with their pres- 
ence!" It was quite an imposing document, I assure 
you, and for a time I was uncertain whether I would 
rather keep the invitation or go to the ball, for we were 

6i 



One "Way Round the World 

asked to present it on entering. It is just so with my 
Japanese passport. That passport is a work of art and 
I long for it as a souvenir. A footnote in English states 
expressly that unless it is returned I can never have an- 
other, but I have a mind to take the risk and keep it. 

When we descended the stairs at the Imperial we 
passed through the brilliantly lighted vestibule, which 
was hazy with cigarette smoke and crowded with men, 
into the corridor. There we made a low bow to the 
count and countess and the line that stood receiving 
and followed the procession into the ball-room. There 
were two thousand guests, so 3'ou may imagine there 
was no time for a t6te-a-tete. I had only a glimpse of 
the count and countess on entering. The count was 
an intelligent looking little man, and his wife a sweet- 
faced woman who looked weary and indifferent. She 
wore a white satin ball dress with a long train which 
did not suit her as her own graceful costume would have 
done. Some beautiful jewels blazed on her corsage, 
and on her head she wore a "ta ra ra" of diamonds, as 
Mr. O'Flannigan said. 

The evening was one long feast of novelties to me, 
and though it isn't courteous to criticise one's enter- 
tainment, I couldn't help being amused at many things. 
A trip to the supper room was in the nature of a battle, 
and victory belonged to the strong. My first escort 
succeeded after some skirmishing in bringing me a bis- 
cuit and some cold salmon, with nothing for himself. 
A little later another captured some champagne and 
some sliced ham. There was an elegant and elaborate 

62 



The Mikado's Birthday 

lunch served, if you could only get to it, and by dint of 
skillful combinations I finally fared very well. Some 
of the Japanese men made very comical mistakes try- 
ing to eat our food, and the rows of dear little Japanese 
gii-ls looked woefully ill at ease sitting on the very edges 
of their chairs, sometimes two on a chair and evidently 
afraid of falling off. 

My dance program included English, Australian, 
Portuguese, Italian, American and Spanish gallants and 
the conversations did some international gymnastics to 
which I am quite unaccustomed. It was great fun ! 

The princes and princesses came and went, sitting 
for a little while at the end of the ball room while the 
cotillon was danced. They were ushered in and out by 
the national hymn and ate supper in a special room re- 
served for them. The young princesses were very 
pretty in beautiful Parisian toilettes and lovely jewels. 

That night I dreamed of a storm of red snowflakes 
against a pure white sky. They were the discs on the 
national flag that had danced in my eyes all day. 



We came away from Tokyo at dusk when there was'a 
faint yellow glow still left in the sky and a few dim stars 
peeping out. The streets were full of swift-flying fire- 
flies, the lanterns the riksha men were swinging as they 
scurried along like little imps of darkness in the shadowy 
light. Along the moat the gnarled old pine trees stood 
out black against the sky bending toward one another 
at all sorts of tipsy angles. It was a fascinating Tokyo 

^3 



One "Way Roisnd the "World 

that we were leaving so regretfully. The twilight 
glamour had never been more potent. There is no tell- 
ing to what length my sentimental mood might have 
gone, but just before I got to the station I caught sight 
of a last comical English sign, English as she is Japped, 
of which there is a rare collection in Tokyo — "Whatever 
goods sent into all directions," it said, and I laughed. 



One day we went down to Kamakura to see a big 
bronze statue of Dai Butsu or Buddha, said by the guide 
book to stand alone as a Japanese work of art, no other 
giving such an impression of majesty or so truly sym- 
bolizing the central idea of Buddhism — the intellectual 
calm which comes of perfected knowledge and the sub- 
jugation of all passion! The Kamakura Buddha's di- 
mensions are forty-nine feet as to height and ninety-seven 
as to circumference, and I am sorry to say I thought 
him pudgy and uninteresting instead of intellectual, and 
was most disappointed because they wouldn't let me 
climb up and sit on his thumb, as they used to let peo- 
ple do, to be photographed. I suspect the guide book 
scribe of having copied his enthusiasm from somewhere 
else and I was more impressed by the wording of a 
notice to visitors put up by the bishop of the diocese. 
I wish I had copied it so that I might give it to you ex- 
actly, for it was a model of dignity, but I can only give 
you the idea. The grounds as well as the statue have 
been the victims of senseless vandalism committed by 
tourists, and the notice begs that the reader, whether 

64 



The Mikado's Birthday 

Mohammedan or Buddhist, Jew or Gentile, of whatever 
creed, or tongue, or race, will remember that he treads 
upon ground hallowed by the true worship of ages and 
forbear from insult. 

On our way to Kamakura we stopped to see a temple, 
and at the foot of the long flight of steps which always 
leads to a shrine we stopped to examine a lotus bed, so 
lovely in the summer, now in the sere and yellow leaf, 
and filled with great brown seed pods instead of blos- 
soms. As we stood for a moment we heard a shrill 
sound of voices, and looking beyond, we saw a long 
line of little folk walking two abreast and winding to- 
ward us like a great serpent. It was a village school, 
the guide said, all boys, and they were singing at the 
very top of their lungs a spirited song, commemorating 
Japanese victories in the late war, first one division tak- 
ing it up then the second answering, while the little fel- 
lows walked along swinging their arms and evidently 
enjoying the noise. They were very poorly dressed and 
the sight of our party nearly spread a panic of fun in 
the ranks, but they rallied when admonished by the 
teachers and wound along out of sight shouting more 
vigorously than ever on what I by courtesy call their 
song. They were long out of sight before out of sound, 
and all that day I would find myself smiling as I thought 
of those lusty little patriots and their howl for the father- 
land. I needed a reserve of smiles, too, for the day 
was rather depressing. The glamour on Japan seemed 
to be getting thin in spots. We rode all afternoon 
through the villages. The people were the dirtiest and 
5 65 



One Way Round the "World 

most repulsive that I have seen, though the district is 
prosperous and it is in their little huts that much of the 
fine Japanese silk is spun and woven. The Japanese 
use a great deal of hot water for bathing, but none of it 
by any accident ever seems to get on the children's 
faces. A visit to a district school that day left us no 
appetite for tiffin. Tiffin is the accepted word for lunch, 
and "to tiffin," "to have tiffened," "tiffened" is a verb 
in good standing. 

That was rather a notable tiffin, too, for when we had 
been at the hotel for a few minutes our guide came and 
whispered to us, evidently impressed by the solemnity 
of the occasion, that we would be seated in the dining 
room at the table next to Mr. Henry Payne Whitney and 
Mrs. Whitney, n^e Gertrude Vanderbilt. They are a 
very prepossessing young couple, both good looking, 
conspicuous only for good taste and good manners, and 
apparently very fond of one another. Perhaps someone 
would like to know what Mrs. Whitney wore, so I'll 
tell. A dark blue gown trimmed with a Persian em- 
broidery on corn colored broadcloth. Her collar had 
corn colored ribbon slipped under a turn-over collar of 
dark blue and tied in the back with a big bow of many 
loops and ends, and she wore a toque trimmed with 
blue corn flowers. She has a brilliant complexion and 
dark eyes and the toilette was very becoming to her. 

I contrast the looks of Ainericans very favorably with 
those of other nations, particularly the Japanese, per- 
haps because I have my share of the colossal conceit 
with which I once heard our nation twitted. The young 

66 



The Mikado's Birthday 

Japanese women are very often pretty. They are dainty 
little things, always with beautifully molded hands and 
arms, and often pretty features and complexions, to 
which their stiff, shiny, elaborately dressed hair gives a 
final quaint touch, but some of the men are the ugliest 
monkeys I ever saw, who support the Darwinian theory 
to a truly marvelous extent. Good Mr. Darwin would 
have revelled in "I told you so's" over here. However, 
I wouldn't for anything be ill-natured in my criticism 
of them and I have all admiration for their pluck and 
progressiveness — a courteous, cheery, industrious race 
who support their 40,000,000 inhabitants in a territory 
about the size of our California and who ask favors of 
no one. With many great evils in their social life there 
is much good and long may they wave. 

I had heard before coming to Japan that it was chang- 
ing rapidly, and supposed, without knowing, that it was 
because so many foreigners were coming in. Not a bit 
of it! In Tokyo, for instance, there are only about two 
hundred and fifty foreign residents all told, and the one 
store where European ribbons and laces and articles of 
dress can be bought would hardly grace a cross-roads. 
It is kept by a fat old Jap who doesn't speak a word of 
English and who sucks his breath through his teeth so 
loud that you can hear him across the street, and who 
bows his nose to the counter every other minute. Suck- 
ing the breath is a bit of politeness that takes the place 
of our handshaking and you are everywhere received 
with a prolonged S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s, accompanied by a 
grand kotow. It is the Japanese themselves who are 

67 



One "Way Round the Wotld 

BO progressive and so eager to take up with the new. 
Everywhere, even in the little mountain hamlets, we 
see electric lights, and that is only one of a hundred 
evidences that the old, easy-going, gracious Japan is 
doomed and civilization is at its heels. 



It is my theory that the ideal traveler should be 
equipped, as to hand baggage, with a valise — not op- 
pressively new, but of distinguished, well worn appear- 
ance — and an umbrella. Yet in spite of this firm con- 
viction, I am usually provided in one way or another 
with about everything but a bird cage. By great strat- 
egy I managed to make my escape from Indiana with 
only a camera beside the ideal valise and umbrella. 
Pride goeth before a fall, and it came in Tokyo. I am 
now traveling with a pine tree ! Not only have I a 
pine tree, but considerable landscape connected with it, 
a plat of ground and a moss grown rock, and I bought 
it all for fifty sen at the Shiba bazaar. My pine tree 
has great twisted roots that stand up well from the 
ground and run well into it, a sturdy veteran of the 
forest, and its gnarled branches have braved the blasts 
of many winters. It bends out protectingly over the 
moss grown rock, just as the pine trees along the em- 
peror's moat reach down longingly toward the water. 
Its needles are fresh green and altogether it is as bonny 
a little tree as there is in Nippon. I say "little" be- 
cause my pine tree is only six inches high, and the plat 
of ground is five by seven inches, and the moss grown 

68 



The Mikado's Bitikd&y 

rock is about as big as a pigeon's egg. Seriously, the 
little tree that stands on the table as I write, is one of 
the wonders of Japan, and I have given you its exact 
dimensions. The talent of these people for producing 
things in miniature is unique in the world. With in- 
finite skill and patience they train the little shoots, giv- 
ing them just a little earth, a little water, a little light, 
and twisting the branches into fanciful curves, just as 
they do the large trees, then, when after years of care 
they have produced a perfect miniature of a gnarled 
old tree, yoii may buy it in the flower market of the 
bazaar for twenty-five cents of our money ! I am told 
that the Japanese, up to the time that the country was 
opened to the foreigners, seemed to make no connection 
in their minds between the time they had spent upon an 
article and the sum they asked for it. Their price de- 
pended solely on the excellence of the result. They have 
largely outgrown that, as tourists know, but the marvelous 
little trees may still be bought for a song, though they 
are the result of a world of time and patience. At the 
bazaar we saw cherry trees eight or ten inches high, 
heavy with pink blossoms, shapely little maples hardly 
a foot high in as gay autumnal foliage as any tree of 
the forest, pine trees two or three feet tall, twisted and 
bent with the weight of a hundred years, little orange 
and persimmon trees bearing fruit about the size of a 
hickory nut, baskets of blooming chrysanthemums whose 
longest stalks reared their flowery heads four inches. 
We haven't enjoyed anything more in Japan than these 
gardens in a nutshell, and in the very first one I fell 
victim to my pine tree. I thought I would keep it to 

69 



One Way Round the World 

enjoy only while I was in Tokyo, and give it away when 
I left, but this evening when we started to return to 
Yokohama I felt quite unequal to leaving it behind. 
Even the Wise One counseled that it be brought along. 
If I grow any more attached to it, you may imagine me 
en route for America with my pinelet and landscape in 
one hand and my ideal baggage in the other. 



70 



vin 

Japan's Glorious Mountains 

WE went from Yokohama by I'ail and tramway and 
riksha, to a lovely place up in the mountains called 
Myanoshita, where the scenery and the peasants suggest 
Switzerland at every turn. Indeed, there is no place in 
the country where we have been that the scenery is not 
beautiful and the people quaint and picturesque. 

The tramway took us eight miles through a long wind- 
ing village street, sometimes varied by avenues of bend- 
ing pines, and when we got to the end, Odiwara, it was 
dark. A crowd of coolies were waiting for us, each 
riksha decorated with a bulbous paper lantern, and af- 
ter tea at the tea house we climbed into the rikshas and 
started for Myanoshita, leaving the tea house girls bent 
double with polite bows and smiling "Sayonaras. " We 
rode for several hours up the mountains before we saw 
the gleaming lights of the Fuji Ya Hotel. It was a 
strange experience for us, even in Japan, the black 
darkness, the half naked coolies, the swaying lights, 
the eerie shadows of passers-by, all armed like ourselves 
with big paper lanterns. The cool night breeze was 
invigorating, and there was a song of mountain torrents 
in the air. The great black slopes rose so straight 

71 



One Way Round the "World 

around us that we had to throw back our heads to see 
the stars. 

The Fuji Ya is a fine hotel with fine hot baths straight 
from boiling springs. The excursions that can be made 
in the neighborhood are legion. One day we went up 
to the Ojigoku pass and had a grand view of Fuji, just 
as the sun was sinking to the horizon. We started in a 
riksha over a road that was fiendishly rough for the first 
mile or two but it afterward grew better and we rode 
with more comfort. As we mounted above the timber 
line, we had a vista of gaimt treeless peaks that shone 
like silver in the sunlight. In spite of the metallic glint, 
they had a velvety, changeable tone which we discovered 
was given by waving fields of a sort of pampas grass 
that grows clear up to the summits. After we left the 
rikshas we dragged ourselves up the rockiest, steepest 
mountain path that we've yet met — three full miles at 
an angle of at least forty degrees. One of the big 
gulches, known as the Big Hell, was full of a sulphur 
formation and sulphurous steam was rising in clouds 
from fissures in the rock. High up toward the summit, 
we crossed a comparatively level spot where our guide 
warned us to follow exactly in his footsteps, and then 
went ahead, striking the ground with his staff to make 
sure it would bear his weight. The hollow crust re- 
sounded like a drum, leaving us in unpleasant uncer- 
tainty how far we should drop if it caved in. It is in 
this place that several too venturesome travelers have 
lost their lives. I have not yet felt an earthquake shock 
in this country, so talented in that line, and though ] 

72 



Japan's Glorious Mountains 

have had my head filled with enough gruesome tales of 
them to make me wake up o' nights with the shivers, I 
have really been wishing that Mother Earth would favor 
us with an experience. However, when I was walking 
across that slippery hollow apology for terra firma, the 
thought of those gigantic mountains swaying on their 
foundations, with little myself trying to stick to them, 
gave me such a start that I hoped that the interesting 
earthquake shock would be indefinitely postponed. A 
little later we crawled along the edge of a spongy cliff, 
where my bamboo staff sunk three or four inches in the 
vari-colored earth at every step, climbed a last short in- 
cline, and then glorious Fujiyama burst upon our view. 
We had seemed at the tip top of loneliness, but there 
stretched its lofty, silent slopes far above us, away into 
cloudland. The sun was not shining directly on it and 
there was a soft haze in the atmosphere that made the 
lower part of the cone a purplish shadow, and through 
which the upper diadem of snow shone dimly. A range 
of lower mountains hid the base of Fuji from our view, 
but just above them, bordering the purple shadows of 
the cone, lay bank after bank of fleecy clouds shining 
white and tipped with pinkish gold where the sun 
reached them, melting into delicate grays beyond his 
beams. Peerless Fujiyama ! No wonder her country- 
men adore and worship her. We haven't half appreci- 
ated her as yet. You will know that I was at least en- 
thusiastic, when I tell you that I arose at 5 o'clock next 
morning to climb another mountain to see the Fuji in 
the opal tints of dawn. 

73 



One Way Round the "World 

We came down the mountain at a great pace that 
evening after our toilsome climb of the afternoon. It 
is such work to go up, up, up, as an old St. Nicholas 
used to say, but it is such fun to go down, down, down. 

It had grown quite dark by the time we got back to 
the riksha men, and we whirled down the path at break- 
neck speed, shut in by the mountains which were turned 
into black walls, silhouetted in jagged lines against the 
sky as if laid on by some giant brush dipped in sepia. 
An occasional glowing eye, high up in the wall, told us 
of the charcoal burners at work, and we passed the 
twinkling lights of the Gold Fish tea-house. 

We arrived with a flourish at the Fuji Ya, weary and 
jolted, and I was massaged by a weird, bald-headed, 
blind little creature who is still another of the curiosi- 
ties of Japan. Massage is very popular here and the 
calling is reserved solely for the blind. In the evening 
you can hear them going along the street blowing a 
plaintive whistle that warns the people of their approach. 
My funny little old woman, a widow, I judge, from her 
shaven head, came into the room feeling her way and 
sat down Japanese fashion on the floor while she waited 
for me. When she began I let her pound me and snap 
my fingers and screw my ears as much as she liked, 
while I made mental notes of the process. It was sooth- 
ing and not too vigorous and left me feeling quite re- 
freshed, though I had had a couple of hard climbs that 
day. I paid the little old lady ten cents of our money 
with two and a half cents additional for "sake" money, 
and she went on her way well pleased. Sake, pro- 

74 



Japan's Glorious Mountahis 

nounced sahkay, is the favorite liquor of the Japanese, 
distilled from rice and usually served hot in the same 
tiny handleless cups as tea. It has a pleasant taste, not 
unlike sherry. They call a "tip" "sake-money," just 
as the French and Germans say "pourboire" and "trink- 
geld," 

Shidzuoka. 

We have come here by train and sedan chair from 
Myanoshita and are lodged in a real Japanese inn, the 
"Daito Kwan." It is real fun, too, for one evening, 
and I am sitting on the floor in the absence of chaii"s, 
writing beside an artistic lamp that I long to carry away 
with me. The lower frame is blackened oak and the 
shade is a hexagonal affair of light strips of wood with 
paper pasted between the strips. The room is a model 
of neatness, cleanliness and order, with matting floors 
and paper screen walls and smooth wooden ceiling. 
The bed consists of a couple of heavy comforts laid on 
the floor, and on it lies a sleeping kimono, adorned with 
storks and dragons. I shall dispense with the pillow, 
which is a block of wood that looks like a section of a 
T rail, for I'm sure I'd wake with every muscle in my 
neck protesting against the outrage. In one corner of 
the room is a pretty washstand, with a little flat metal 
bowl, tiny mirror and bouquet of chrysanthemums, 
though the washstand is an innovation, for formerly 
prince and peasant alike washed in a public room. 
They have here a room which the Mikado once occu- 
pied, sacred and never occupied since. Over my head 

75 



One "Way Round the World 

hangs a motto in Chinese characters which Suzuki 
copied and translated for me. "Behold Fujiyama, oh 
Honorable One," it says, for Fuji maybe seen from 
the veranda ; in the next room there is a wish for long 
life and prosperity for the occupant. The depressions 
for the fingers in my screens, which take the place of 
knobs, are of bronze daintily modeled, and decorated 
with the irrepressible mountain. 

Fuji and the bay were lovely as we passed them this 
afternoon. The mountain had that same low-lying 
cloud across her slopes leaving the cone clear and cloud- 
less and we saw her in all the changing tints of sunset 
and twilight. The sky across the bay was shell pink, 
against which the gray mountains stood out in divine 
harmony. It was almost Lake Leman, if the quaint 
fisher folk along the shore had been a little more mod- 
ern and a little more Swiss. 

We dined in the foreign annex of this Japanese estab- 
lishment in what is supposed to be foreign style. If the 
Mikado is first in rank in this country, there is no doubt 
but that the butter is second. It and an antique un- 
washed teapot were old friends, I am sure, and there 
were other shortcomings too numerous to mention. In 
fact, I'm afraid we won't appreciate the cuisine of the 
Daito Kwan till we get something worse. - 

There is a racket going on around me now that bodes 
ill for sleep. These Japanese have absolutely no nerves, 
and no amount of nerve-wrenching clatter disturbs them. 
In some places we have noticed that the wheels of the 
rikshas were allowed to slip about an inch on the axle, 

76 



Japan's Glorious Mountains 

making an irritating, clapping noise, and when we asked 
why they were made so we were informed, forsooth, 
that it was so they would make noise enough for people 
to hear them and get out of the way. These paper 
walls carry every sound in the building, and outside 
there is a vigorous picking of samisens, to which some 
girls are singing. The samisen is a popular musical 
instrument, played universally, though it is supposed to 
have been brought from Manila about 1700. It is a 
graceful instrument, not unlike the banjo, and while 
far removed from what we call melodious? it has a nig- 
gery twang that one grows to like. If there is any be- 
ginning or end to the strains they play upon it they 
disguise themselves effectually and the music seems to 
be a series of disconnected minor tones played without 
any regard for time or tune. 

The singing is a wonder! It always reminds me of 
a remark an Englishman once made to an uncle of mine. 
The story has a spice of impropriety in it, but it passes 
on its merit. This Englishman was traveling in Amer- 
ica and was sitting in the smoking room of a Pullman 
car when my uncle entered. He had a banjo in his 
hand, and they fell into a conversation on banjos and 
darkey dialect songs, on which my uncle found the En- 
glishman much better informed than himself. Finally 
he asked him if he played the banjo and sang. "Yaas," 
drawled the Englishman, "I do sing a bit. Not that 
I have much voice, y' know, but people will stand some 
d — d bad singing, if you can only pick a banjo a little." 
The same is apparently true of the samisen, for the 

11 



One "Way Round the "World 

Japanese endure a great deal of that kind of singing. 
The samisen one might grow to crave but the cater- 
wauling, never! Their songs are a series of rasping 
squeaks with many sudden flights from D flat to G sharp 
and back to most anywhere. It is with difficulty that 
we can accept their melodies solemnly, and the rendi- 
tion of some of our airs by native bands is excruciating. 
Foreign music is the swagger thing just now, and they 
will have it, but the tuning of instruments is a detail 
that they neglect. 

Shidzuoka is noted for its delicate basket work, a 
marvel of beauty, and for the residence of the last of 
the shoguns, where the old man lives in lonely exile, 
never receiving anyone or going off of his estate. We 
admired the baskets and looked down on the residence 
from one of the templed hills. Fortunately, too, we 
didn't let our Tokyo experience satisfy us but went again 
to a chi'ysanthemum show. It was an exquisite collec- 
tion with none of the stiffness of the Tokyo figures, but 
aisle after aisle of regal blossoms either growing straight 
or trained in ingenious shapes, offering a wealth of glow- 
ing color, a real corner of the garden of Eden where 
chrysanthemums bloomed. There were all colors and 
sizes and shapes, jinrikishas, Fujis, bridges, lanterns, 
bells, even a bicycle, but I liked best the great frowsly 
Paderewskian ones of which there was a large and beau- 
tiful collection. Kiku is the Japanese word for chrys- 
anthemum, a word I wish we might adopt instead of 
our lumbering chrysanthemum so often misspelled and 
mispronounced. The seasons here are one round of 

7S 



Japan's Glotious Mountains 

blossoms, each lingering to welcome the next. In the 
spring the whole land is bright with clouds of pink 
cherry blossoms. Then come waves of purple wisteria 
and in summer the creamy lotus lifts its stately head 
above the ponds. In the fall the autumn leaves vie 
with the gorgeous decorative chrysanthemums in vivid 
coloring and even in the winter there are plum blossoms 
at Christmas time. 

At Nagoya we revelled in the finest cloisonne ware 
that we have seen, and dutifully visited more temples, 
but I am sorry to say the thing that lingers clearest in 
my memory about that interesting place is the large col- 
lection of ridiculous superannuated wooden high wheels 
that seem to have found refuge there. 

We, ourselves, were great curiosities in Nagoya, and 
one small, solemn, round-eyed Jap ran all the way from 
the station to the hotel beside my jinriksha, exactly as 
our boys follow the clown in the circus parade, except 
that he took the matter very seriously and was evidently 
filled with awe and amazement. But the bicycles I 
They were made of old carriage wheels, I think, and 
were always mounted by Japs, usually wearing their 
clogs and invariably staring at us. They would come 
up behind us rattling like drays and steering a course of 
wild semicircles down the street that made us anxious 
for the life and limb of everybody in the street, ourselves 
included. No debonair rider of a crack safety ever gave 
a more reckless exhibition of the art of staying on. 



19 



One "Way Round the World 

Anyone who wrote about Japan would do it a seri- 
ous injustice if he left out a paragraph on babies. 
Babies are everywhere in evidence, particularly the 
street babies, surely the most cunning, captivating little 
folks in the world, when the dirt isn't so thick it is nau- 
seating. In a country where they wear white for 
mourning, and put foot notes at the top of the page, 
and use paper towels and napkins and handkerchiefs, but 
do their bundles up in cloth, where vehicles turn to the 
left instead of the right, and the lock is in the jamb in- 
stead of the door, and they build the roofs of the houses 
on the ground before they begin the walls — in short where 
everything is topsy turvy — it isn't surprising that babies 
are carried on their mothers' backs instead of in their 
arms. Dressed in wadded kimonos just like their elders, 
except that they combine a few more colors of the rain- 
bow, these roly poly little bundles of humanity are tied 
to the back of the mother or to a brother or sister, some- 
times not much larger than themselves, by a long band 
of cloth wound twice around them and knotted at the 
belt of the person carrying them. There they hang- 
contentedly to all appearances, for they rarely cry, gaz- 
ing with wondering eyes at this queer world they've 
come to, or sleeping soundly with their poor little heads 
rolled back or over to one side so far that it seems as if 
their necks would break. If they utter any protest the 
mother begins a jarring step that bounces the baby up 
and down in a way that would make an American baby 
howl like a Comanche but which they accept as sooth- 
ing. It seems they are endowed with that blessed lack 

80 






>i*.-^ '"'r^A $7 J 





TAKING CARE OF THE BABY 



Japan's Glorious Mountains 

of nerves that their parents have, for they are astonish- 
ingly good. When they are beginning to walk they 
seem to be always entertaining themselves, and have a 
business-like air that sits very charmingly on them. 
Perhaps they are really a good deal older than they look, 
for the race is small. 

Even the smallest children have their heads shaved, 
occasionally all over, but more often with a tiny tuft 
left just above the forehead, or over the ear, or at the 
nape of the neck, for seed, as one witty observer sug- 
gests. Some of the babies have a round spot shaved on 
the crown and beyond this a circle of their fine baby 
hair stands out like a smoky halo. The older children 
have straight black wiry hair, cut in many fanciful de- 
signs according to the taste of their parents. Some- 
times they have the round bare spot on the crown, with 
another oblong clearing just above the forehead. The 
girls begin to do up their hair as soon as there are wisps 
long enough to moor a couple of false puffs and anchor 
them with a hairpin. They cut the hair in front in a 
two-storied bang that hangs over the ears with lambre- 
quin effect. 

The pretty "geisha," or dancing girls, the sirens of 
the tea houses, do their hair in the most remarkable 
towers of shiny puffs decorated with many fancy hair 
pins, a style that makes the artificial little women look 
more artificial than ever. They powder their faces till 
they are chalk white, sometimes intentionally leaving 
patches of their yellowish skin tmtouched. One night 
at the theater I noticed a geisha who had three very 
6 8i 



One "Way Round the "World 

pointed triangles on the nape of her pretty neck, painted, 
I supposed, in yellow, but I discovered that they were 
patches of her natural skin left unpowdered. I can't 
imagine how they manage to "draw the line" so neatly, 
for very often a band is left along the forehead next to 
the hair, as well. You can notice the same thing in 
the picture of the sacred dancers. The geishas' costumes 
are of the richest silks and crepes, exquisitely colored 
and combined, and though they wear no jewels, their 
toilettes often represent a small fortune. 



63 




SACRED DANCERS AT NARA 



IX 

Odds and Ends 

THE position of woman is much inferior to that of 
man. She is sweet, gentle and obedient under 
many and peculiar trials, and is almost the slave of her 
husband. Miss Isabella Bird wittily remarks that what 
Japan needs to correct the evils of social life is, not to 
elevate the women, but to suppress the men. Another 
author who wrote a book on the customs of the country, 
which was translated into Japanese with a commentary, 
says they patted him on the back for many of his ob- 
servations, but their wrath exploded when they reached 
his comments on the position of women. "The sub- 
ordination of women to men," so runs the critical com- 
mentary, "is an extremely correct custom. To think 
the contrary is to harbor European prejudice. For the 
man to take precedence over the woman is the grand 
law of heaven and earth. To ignore this and talk of the 
contrary as barbarous is absurd." As the writer says, 
"it does not fall to every one's lot to be anathematized 
by half a dozen Japanese literary popes — and that, too, 
merely for taking the part of the ladies." The Japanese 
do not feel complimented either in private or public by 
praise of their women, their flowers or their art. It is 
of their progress, enterprise, business successes that they 
wish to hear. It is probable that they are so sensitive 

83 



One "Way Round the "World 

as to the position of woman, because they realize that 
it is the weak phice in the grand march of progress of 
which they arc st) justly proud, and not being able to 
defend it they are easily touclicil by criticism. There 
is a little book called "The Japanese Bride" written by 
Rev. Naomi '.ramura, published in Harper's familiar 
Black and White series, which I read some time ago, 
but failed to discover in it the elements of the tremen- 
dous sensation it cixated over here. The book showed 
that the position of Japanese women is in many ways 
deplorable, for they not only occupy an inferior posi- 
tion, but, as a rule, receive no Inheritance from their 
parents, and may be divorced, and separated from their 
children also, for the most trivial causes, at the caprice 
ol" (he husband. Divorce is very common, but fortu- 
nately a law is soon to be passed which is Intended to 
remedy the abuse. The Uov. Taniura was accused, 
not ol' inisrcjircscMiting tlie state of affairs, but of telling 
too much about it, and he was expelled from the native 
presbytery of Tokyo. Ills loyal church followed him, 
however, and has been more prosperous than before. 

"If the book had been written in Japanese for the 
natives," said his accusers, "with the intention of point- 
ing out their defects to tlieni, it would have been bad 
enough, but io hold up the faults of his countrymen to 
the ga/e of foreigners was shameful and unworthy of a 
clergyman." The Rev. Tamura is a brilliant man, a 
graduate of Princeton and the Auburn Theological 
Seminary, and is well known in America where he has 
many friends, anil any foreigner who reads his book 



Odds and Ends 

will be likely to acquit him of any disloyal intention in 
writing it. 

Another book of the legion of books on Japan, one 
that I have found most interesting, is Mr. W. E. Curtis' 
well-named "Yankees of the East." It is written in a 
very attractive style and contains a mine of information 
well sugar-coated. Mr. Curtis did not spend a great 
deal of time in this country, yet his book is considered 
remarkably accurate by people who have lived here for 
years. In his opening chapter he urges "every man, 
woman and child of twelve years old and upward, who 
has the time and money, to visit the land of flowers 
and fans before its original picturesqueness is entirely 
overcast with the commonplace and colorless customs 
of modern civilization." 

Mr. Curtis' chapter on "The Missionary Problem 
and Christianity from a Buddhist Standpoint" is par- 
ticularly fair and helpful to any one interested in the 
great question of religion. 

The work of the missionaries is very often strongly 
condemned, usually most strongly by people who have 
not investigated the subject at all. Even an unpreju- 
diced observer, who believes that the Christian religion 
is best because it is the most elevating, is apt to decide 
superficially that the gate of paradise is much wider 
than our good ministers say and that it might be better 
to let these millions of people go happily to their Budd- 
hist and Shinto places of peace whether they be called 
nirvana or heaven, undisturbed by the doubts and ques- 
tions a new religion brings. 

85 



One Way Round the World 

It is very difficult to reconcile religions when one 
takes the big world for a field. The differences of 
doctrine in the Christian church our missionaries find 
difficult to explain. "Why," say the Japanese, "you 
do not even agree among yourselves about your belief." 
This difference causes so much friction that mission- 
aries of all denominations work largely together, and it 
is not unlikely that some time a single church will be 
established which will be known as the National Chris- 
tian Church of Japan just as England has her Church 
of England. 

As I say, a superficial observer might think that the 
labors of our missionaries in the field, the lives and the 
money spent, are not at all compensated or warranted by 
the results. Their work is too often sneered at by their 
own countrymen. But among those in a position to 
judge, the opinion is unanimous that the missionary in- 
fluence has been a wonderful factor for good in the de- 
velopment of the new Japan. The work has always 
been encouraged and every courtesy shown by the high- 
est officials of the empire, some of whom are Christians, 
and there are many flourishing native churches. The 
seed has surely been sown. When some one laughingly 
remarked to a prominent man, not himself a Christian, 
that our principal exports to Japan were kerosene and 
missionaries, he thoughtfully replied, "Yes, and both 
have brought us light, light for the eyes and light for 
the soul." 

There is no Sunday in the Buddhist or Shinto relig- 
ions, though they have some regularly recurring feast 

86 




A TEMPLE 



Odds and En^ 

days that are observed. My conscience is rather elas- 
tic, and I don't know that I should have remembered 
to go to chtireh in Kyoto if the Wise One had not one 
fine morning reminded me that it was Sunday and taken 
me along with her. There were only a few worship- 
ers, but we had a good Presbyterian service and sermon 
that carried us back home and made the Kyoto streets 
seem stranger than ever as we rode back to the Ya-ami. 
Another whiff of Indiana was in Osaka with Mr. and 
Mrs. B. C. Hav/orth. The guests besides ourselves 
were Dr. A. D. Hail, Miss Thompson and Miss Mc- 
Guire, all missionary workers in various fields, and 
they entertained us with many accounts of their experi- 
ence, some lively and amusing. The conversation 
was sparkling and the dinner — well, we had been exist- 
ing at the Osaka Hotel and felt like the small boy who 
said he had swallowed a hole, and that dinner seemed to 
us the most delicious we ever tasted. Altogether it 
was a red-letter evening. 

At the temples and shrines the worshipers write 
their prayers on a little slip of paper, then chew it into 
a wad and throw it at the big image of the god from 
whom they ask a boon. If the soft wad sticks they 
take it as an omen that the prayer will be granted, but 
if it falls they reason that they'd better pray again. It 
is hard for even the most dignified of gods to look im- 
posing when irregularly covered with paper wads, and 
some of them are comical indeed. Sometimes the prayers 
are tied around the wooden supports of the images, and 
at one of the temples of Kwannon, the thousand-handed 

87 



One Way Round the "World 

goddess of mercy, we saw a wall hung full of illustrated 
prayers painted on wooden blocks and others tied to the 
latticed screens. 

Few of the waiters in the hotels understand English, 
and for convenience the dishes on the bill of fare are 
numbered both in English and Japanese numerals. 
You point to a number, the waiter looks at the corres- 
ponding one in Japanese and brings what you want. If 
you have learned to count "ichi, ni, san, shi," etc., you 
may add "ban," number, which, of course, comes after 
the numeral instead of before it in this land of reverses, 
and you'll have a pleased waiter and the satisfaction of 
speaking a little Japanese. 

Over here the family name comes first, the given of 
Buddha name next, and Mr., Mrs. or Miss last. 

The names of the girls are very fanciful and pretty. 
The empress' poetical name is "Springtime." Kiku, 
meaning chrysanthemum, is a favorite. One day I 
asked Suzuki, our guide, the name of his little girl, and 
he said it was "Ren," and that Ren meant brick. 
" 'Brick,' " I said in astonishment, for here was certain- 
ly a violent contrast to "Cherry Blossom," "Bamboo," 
"Silver," "Moonlight," "Perfume" and so on. "Why 
do you call a girl 'Brick'.?" Suzuki is a good guide and 
he has saved us a world of annoyance and bother, but 
his English is occasionally very lame, quite paralytic in 
fact, and that was a notable instance of it. I gathered 
that he named the little girl Brick in consideration of 
the many admirable qualities of the brick, solidity, 
strength, immunity from destruction by fire and useful' 

88 



Odds and Ends 

ness. "Beside," he said, "she was born near a brick- 
yard." I am not sure whether this was an exceptional 
example, or whether, like our Indians, they sometimes 
name children from some circumstance, or event oc- 
curring at their birth or in their childhood. 

One of the striking things in the instruction in the 
public schools is the cultivation of the spirit of patriot- 
ism. Of course, the late war has aroused all that was 
latent and a great wave of patriotism has swept over the 
land amounting almost to frenzy sometimes, yet it has 
always been a part of the Japanese education to culti- 
vate a love of country. It is a great pity that there is 
not a more direct effort in that line in our own country 
where there is such a great need of assimilating our 
mixed population, and that our school boys and girls 
are not given object lessons in patriotism along with 
their arithmetic. In many of the small villages along 
the railway we have seen a procession of half the in- 
habitants out with banners and drums to welcome home a 
single private who had returned from his military service. 

The Jap apparently has a great deal of misplaced 
confidence in his knowledge of English, and the results 
of a literal translation of the Japanese idiom into our 
language are intensely amusing. "Wine, beer and 
other," says one sign. "Patent shoes for iron bed," 
says another, meaning castors, I suppose. 

Here is another set that I can vouch for as being act- 
ually in use. "Cigars, cigaretts, or A Ney (any) Kind." 
"Fresh Ox Milk." "Here one does dinner, and sup- 
per, coffee, tea." 

89 



One "Way Round the World 

This is an advertisement for fragrant Kozan wine : 
"If health be not steady, heart is not active. Were 
heart active, the deeds may be done. Among the 
means to preserve health, the best w^ay is to take in 
Kozan wine, which is sold by us, because it is to assist 
digestion and increase blood. Those vv^ho want the 
steady health should drink Kozan wine. This wine is 
agreeable even to the females and children who can not 
drink any spirit because it is sweet. On other words, 
this pleases mouth, and therefore it is very convenient 
medicine for nourishing." And finally, a letter which 
Professor Chamberlain gives in "Things Japanese." 



"Tokyo, Japan. 
"Dear Sir, 

"New year very happy. I salute prudently for your 
all. I had been several districts since July of last year. 
Now, here my head is mingled up with several admi- 
rations by the first voyage to abroad ; but anyhow I feel 
very lionizing, interesting, profitable for experiment, by 
sailing about there and here. Though I exercised 
English diligently, yet I am very clumsiness for transla- 
tion, dialogue, composition, elocution and all other. It 
is a great shamefulness, really, but I don't abandon 
English henceforth. I swear to learn it perseveringly 
even if in the lucubration. 

"Tendering you my sympathy joy of your decoration, 
I am, Yours affectionally, 

"M. L." 
90 



Odds and Ends 

It is all very well to laugh at these efforts, but I won- 
der if we should have as good luck in turning English 
into Japanese. 

In Kyoto one day we were much amused at the sign 
of a practical life insurance company put up just outside 
the crematory. Suzuki first convulsed us by the way 
he sang it, chanting through his nose in a queer, dron- 
ing fashion, just as all the Japanese read the Chinese 
characters that are used to print their language. In 
the train or in the stations it isn't unusual to see a line 
of half a dozen men singing the news to themselves, 
oblivious of one another. The list of the Chinese char- 
acters is endless and one must have a knowledge of three 
thousand, to correspond to our alphabet, and for print- 
ing a newspaper, for instance, at least five thousand are 
necessary; for the classics, ten, twenty, thirty thousand 
are required. The Japanese alphabet, which is printed 
beside the Chinese characters for the benefit of the ig- 
norant, has forty-eight letters. It seems that the chil- 
dren are taught to sing the intricate Chinese characters 
and they can not understand them unless they speak 
them. Having the habit as children they keep it when 
grown and continue to sing. 

The thrifty insurance company warns the reader that 
a cheery face and a healthy body are easily turned to a 
poor skeleton. People wither like the leaves of the 
forest and perish like the frail flower that trembles on 
the brink and is finally pushed into the abyss. Nobody 
knows what the future will be, and riches take wings. 
Finally, insure with this particular life insurance com- 

91 



^ 



' One "Way Round the "World 

pany and you will do a noble work in providing for your 
desolate family. 

The Japanese refer to ne'er-do-wells and people who 
do not amount to anything, as "cold rice." 

In bargaining with a Jap shopkeeper, if you wish to 
»^ get a reduction you must not tell him 
^§^\ that you are poor, but that you are 
rich. His reasoning is that if you 
are rich you are a prudent person 
who has saved his money by careful 
buying, and he makes the reduction. 
r^ ^ The Japanese women "toe in" 

fg }ff^ instead of out. Curly hair is con- 

^ *^*** sidered very ugly. 

^ Some comparisons with the Jap- 

anese are to the credit of the Chinese. 
Merchants in contracting with the 
™ Japanese require a bond with a heavy 

JAPANESE VISITING forfeit, but they consider the China- 
man's "Can do" as good as his bond. 
Railway fares in Japan are graded to the purse of 
the traveler. First class, three sen a mile, second class, 
two sen, third class, one sen ; a sen being one-half cent 
of our money. 

The Japanese are so polite that their language, though 
rich in words, affords absolutely none for cursing and 
swearing. It took a breezy American to remark that 
though he admired that trait, he preferred his own land 
where they "kiss and cuss." Kissing as well as pro- 
fanity is unknown in Japan. 

93 



i% 



X 

In Palace, Temple, and Theater 

AT NARA, we wandered happily along the lovely 
avenues arched over with fine old trees and guard- 
ed by rows of moss-covered lanterns, where the deer 
roam, timidly begging for the little cakes that are sold 
at the wayside booths and looking at us with great as- 
tonishment in their gentle eyes. They also recognized 
us as strangers. There is a wilderness of the graceful 
lanterns, row after row and vista after vista of them. 
Decidedly you mustn't omit Nara, and be sure to stop 
as we did at the Chrysanthemum Dewdrop, a quaint, 
delightful Japanese inn, so artistic and romantic that 
you will be a base ingrate if you complain of so sordid 
a circumstance as food. It was at Nara that we saw 
the painfully small holes cut in the pillars of the temples 
through which the faithful followers of Buddha manage 
to squirm, and it was also at Nara that we saw the sacred 
dance. It was given by some odd painted maidens, 
dressed in flowing robes of red and white, with their hair, 
which was elaborately decorated with wreaths of artifi- 
cial flowers and metal pins, hanging down their backs. 
They waved bunches of tinkling bells while a couple of 
priests clapped some wooden blocks together and played 
a melancholy flute, and an older woman sat on her heels 

93 



One "Way Round the "World 

and picked the koto. After the dance was finished the 
girls displayed a very worldly interest in my famous vel- 
vet cape, and making an extra "offering" we took their 
pictures. 

As we came at night into Osaka, the city, with its 
many rivers and canals reflecting the lights in long shin- 
ing lances on the dark water, seemed to me an Oriental 
Venice, but the daylight showed it to be bustling and 
commercial, more like Rotterdam than the Bride of the 
Sea. It is an interminable distance from the station to 
the hotel, but I always enjoy the night rides thoroughly, 
with the narrow streets, the dark little latticed houses, 
the decorative glowing lanterns, the mysterious pedes- 
trians, the flying rikshas, the open shops. In Osaka we 
called on our kind Japanese friend, Mr. Asai. Mrs. 
Asai is a dear little Japanese woman who does not speak 
a word of English, but she smiled and served us tea, 
sitting on the floor and holding a sweet Japanese baby 
who eyed us wonderingly but wasn't afraid of us. The 
house was a gem of simplicity and neatness, very little 
but matting and screens and delicately carved wood, an 
improvement in some ways over our elaborate style of 
furnishing. I suppose along with other nerve-wearing 
customs of hurry and enterprise which the Japanese 
men seem destined to gradually adopt, the Japanese 
women will change their simple method of housekeep- 
ing. Mr. Asai showed us all over the house, not from 
garret to cellar for there was neither, but through all the 
rooms and the pretty garden as well. He rays that he 
remembers with what interest he studied the establish- 

94 




THE ENTRANCE OF A THEATER 



In Palace, Temple, and Theater 

ments of many courteous Americans, and that he is very 
glad to give those who care for it a glimpse of Japanese 
home life. Mr. Asai has fitted up an American room, 
just as we have our Oriental rooms, with grate and car- 
pet and window curtains, which seem oddly out of place 
in the house, but are, of course, a source of great pride 
and satisfaction to him. 

Not in a volume could I tell you of all the fascina- 
tions of Kyoto. 

"Tokyo people like eat," explains Suzuki. "No care 
much for kimono. Kyoto people like very much beauti- 
ful fine kimono, not so much eat." And it is true that 
we saw the gayest, prettiest costumes in Kyoto. There 
is a great rivalry between these two imperial cities, the 
Eastern and Western capitals, as they are called, and it 
appears that the point of dispute is the ladies' kimonos, 
instead of the size of their feet. Kyoto people feel much 
chagrined that the Mikado has taken up his permanent 
residence in Tokyo, and that the great palace in Kyoto 
is almost always closed. We visited two of the Mikado's 
palaces, both interesting, though the second was much 
more ornate than the first. The first stands in a great 
wooded park which once contained the residences of the 
nobles, since destroyed, I think, by fire. The history 
of these places is one long string of fires and floods and 
earthquakes, and it becomes a matter of wonder that 
anything is left. The guide-book, too, tells of vandal- 
ism which reigned at the opening-up of Japan, begin- 
ning with Commodore Perry's visit, during which a 

95 



One "Way Round the "World 

great many fine antiquities were destroyed in a sense- 
less spirit of "progress." At the first palace, we en- 
tered at the Gate of the August Kitchen, and were 
shown around by a couple of distinguished looking 
Japs, in silk kimonos and peculiar wide pleated trous- 
ers, a good deal like our divided skirts, which are the 
conventional dress for visiting the habitation of the 
sacred Mikado, '■'-de rigeur" in fact. European dress 
is allowed and Suzuki was out in coat and trousers. In 
the palaces I noticed in the Japanese a feeling of rever- 
ence. They talk at the top of their voices in the tem- 
ples, and walk around examining everything with care- 
less curiosity, but in the palaces they lowered their 
voices, and trod with a solemn, reverential air in the 
apartments the Mikado had occupied. In one room we 
saw a throne — of matting, of course — with two lac- 
quered stools on which the insignia of the Mikado's 
rank, the jewel and sword, are placed. The hangings 
were of white silk with bold black figures, and were 
tied with bands of red and black, decorated with birds 
and butterflies. In one corner of the room was a 
square of cement, where night and morning earth is 
placed so that the Mikado may worship his ancestors on 
the soil, without descending to the ground. In another 
hall was another throne, the "Cool and Pure" hall it 
was called, but "Cold and Draughty" would be better. 
In all that palace there is no provision for fire or any- 
thing that we call comfort, and for all I know, the de- 
scendant of the Sun Goddess shivers over a few coals 
in his hibachi, or fire pot, warming his pulse and rub- 

96 



In Palace^ Temple, and Theater 

bing his hands just like the common people. The 
throne in this room was a beautiful chair with a back 
shaped like the torii, or gates that always stand in front 
of the temples. 

At the Nijo palace, which used to be a part of the 
Nijo castle, now destroyed, we saw the most splendid 
apartments we have seen anywhere. The great Shogun 
leyasu lived there for a time and the suites of apart- 
ments, though somewhat dimmed by time, are still a 
blaze of golden glory. The screens are all covered 
udthgold leaf and decorated by the "old masters" in the 
bold fanciful designs that we are learning to appreciate 
if not to admire. The ceilings, and indeed all the de- 
tails, down to the small metal finishes, are marvels of 
delicate work. The whole has an effect of stately 
grandeur. The designs on the screens have the huge 
gnarled branches of the imperial pine, many of them 
life size, figures of herons and eagles, cherry trees in 
blossom, the kingly peony, chrysanthemums, tigers, 
bamboo, cats — all the designs dear to the Japanese 
heart, except Fuji. If Fuji was there it escaped me. 
How I should like to slip into those wide, silent halls 
some Halloween at midnight, when fairies dance and 
spirits waken, and see if the moonlight beams wouldn't 
reveal a shadowy shogun in all his old time pomp and 
magnificence, glistening with jewels, and surrounded 
by his prostrate vassals the daimyos — all the by-gone 
glitter and splendor the tarnished walls have seen, and 
of which they are a melancholy monument. 

Japan has seen marvelous changes and I'm told that 
7 91 



One Way Round the "World 

many of the sons of samurai, the warrior class next in 
rank to the daimyos, are now riksha runners. One day 
I asked Suzuki if people looked down on the riksha 
men, because they do such menial work. "Do you, 
for instance .f" ' I said. Suzuki shrugged his shoulders 
in a style that would have done credit to a Frenchman, 
and replied: "I no look down on riksha man. Maybe 
I pull riksha myself tomorrow." 

The new temples at Kyoto are grand, indescribably 
rich in carving and gold and lacquer. The palaces at- 
tached have more of the gilded, grotesquely-decorated 
screens. As nearly as I can understand and express it 
in a few words, the Japanese idea of art is not to rep- 
resent things as they are, for may we not enjoy them so 
in nature, but to convey an original idea by distorting 
the subject. 

A trip to Lake Biwa is a charming exciu'sion from 
Kyoto and affords the very novel experience of going 
on a canal through three tunnels in the mountains, one 
of them several miles long. It is a wonderful trip. 
Never, before Charon rows me across the river Styx, 
do I expect to feel as creepy as I did in that frail rock- 
ing little craft, creaking and groaning along that dark 
vaulted passage, with only the light of a dim lantern to 
pierce the eternal gloom, or the flaring ghostly torch of 
a passing boat to cast uncanny reflections on the damp 
walls. "You mustn't forget to think of an earthquake 
when you are inside," some one had told me, "for that 
is half the excitement." I didn't forget, and again I 
wished the interesting shock indefinitely postponed. 

98 



In Palace, Temple, and Theatef 

There is an awesome feeling in piercing the heart of a 
great mountain, an oppressive sense of the stupendous 
weight that hangs over one's head, apparently about as 
securely suspended as Damocles' sword. I, for one, 
and the rest of the family for two, breathed a sigh of 
relief when we found ourselves again in warm daylight 
in the same old world instead of a lower region to 
which that black, silent passage seemed surely to lead. 

The theaters in Kyoto are unique and we were for- 
tunate to be there at the time of the Maple festival, when 
we had the opportunity of seeing many of the famous 
geishas. The plays and dances are very odd and in- 
comprehensible, and of course everything is managed 
just as we do not manage it, but the scenery is made 
very pretty with paper blossoms and twinkling lights, 
and the costumes are elegant. At the theater they check 
clogs instead of hats, and the people sit on the floor in 
little square compartments, drinking sake and smoking, 
with an occasional glance at the performance. Men and 
women both smoke a peculiar pipe, made of bamboo 
tipped with metal, which has a bowl about the size of a 
baby's thimble and only allows two or three good whiffs. 

It is in Kyoto, as I told you, that fascinations never 
end. It is the most Japanese, the most interesting of 
all. If your interest in the sights flags, there are always 
the enticing shops, and one is apt to fall among shop- 
keepers when starting out with the most praiseworthy 
intention to visit the temples. If it isn't satsuma ware 
it is embroidery, or cloisonnd, or bronzes, perhaps por- 



99 



One Way Round the World 

celain, silks, ivory carvings, curios, bamboo ware, any- 
thing and everything that is beguiling. 

We lived most pleasantly at the Ya Ami, a big ram- 
bling hotel, beautifully situated on what is known as the 
Eastern Hill of the quaint city. One sunny morning we 
came sorrowfully away, followed by a last violent s-s-s-s-s 
from our faithful little waiter. Leaving the Ya Ami 
was very melancholy indeed, and the Osaka Hotel only 
deepened the gloom. It was the changing beauty of 
the Inland Sea that consoled us. 

On board the "Yokohama-Maru." 

We sailed away from Kobe on the "Yokohama-Maru" 
for Shanghai. The Wise One thinks it is high time 
that we were leaving Japan when the head of the family 
expresses a desire to take a couple of little Japanese 
maidens home with him. 

It was Thanksgiving day and we came out to the 
"Yokohama-Maru" in an open sampan, in a dismal 
downpour of rain, and ate Thanksgiving dinner on board, 
thankful that we hadn't been drowned and that we could 
eat. 

The last part of the voyage has been fearfully rough. 
The ship is lying in the trough of the sea and we seem 
to be traveling faster sideways than we are ahead, in a 
series of horrid wriggly rolls. The favored few who 
have been able to appear at the table have with diffi- 
culty kept themselves on their chairs, and the cook has 
with even greater difficulty kept the food on the stove. 
I barely manage to stick to my chair and my subject. 

lOO 



In Palace, Temple, and Theater 

Such weather is very bad for the disposition, very apt 
to make one w^ant the earth. 

We left Japan so regretfully. I rub my eyes and look 
at the broad Yellow Sea with the feeling that I have 
waked from a bright colored dream, too soon past. 
Come one and all to Japan when you would leave hurry 
and worry behind and dream the days away in lovely 
mountain districts or in the busy, crowded, curious cities 
among a kindly, smiling people, never too hurried to be 
polite or to render a service and always alive to the 
beautiful in nature and in art. 

There are flaws, there always are, and it may be they 
would grow more apparent with time, but if you have a 
grain of leniency in your nature, you will forgive them 
all when you are holidaying, and agree with me that 
Japan is charming and not oveiTated, as some people 
say. 

To-night I went up on the bridge to have a good view 
of the phosphorus in the water. I had heard of its won- 
drous glow in these eastern seas, but I could not have 
imagined anything so strangely beautiful. From the 
vessel to the horizon the sea is one sheet of gleaming, 
dancing lights that tip the crest of every wave and glow 
in a strange bluish fire where the foaming water dashes 
back from our cleaving prow. It is a veritable fairy- 
land where all the sea sprites must hold high carnival. 
Beyond lies China, the unknown. 



lOI 



XI 

In Old Shanghai 

THE "Yokohama-Maru" slipped over the bar into 
the Yang-ste-Kiang with only six inches of water 
to spare. We had been afraid we would miss the tide, 
though Captain Swain had promised to send us up to 
Shanghai on a tug if we did. "You don't dare make 
it any closer than that, do you?" I said to one of the 
officers. "That is very close indeed," he replied, "and 
the ship will hardly answer the rudder, but I'll tell you 
a secret. I think we would risk it with even a shade 
less when Mrs. Swain is in Shanghai." 

The "Yokohama-Maru's" officers are so agreeable 
that we left her with regret, even after that terrific shak- 
ing up that she gave us. I parted sorrowfully with the 
captain's pup, a lively, bright-eyed little fellow, with 
teeth like needles and a pup's characteristic inclination 
to chew everything he can find. I spent a good deal of 
time on his neglected education, trying to teach him to 
bring me a handkerchief, but he looks upon life as a 
joke and was loath to accept resppnsibilities. 

The broad Yang-ste-Kiang is yellow and muddy like 
the Yellow Sea. Shanghai, with its smoking stacks 
and foreign-looking buildings, has nothing Chinese 
about it from a distance, and if it were not for the pic- 

I02 



^ 




In Old Shanghai 

turesque river craft on the Yang-ste, junks and sampans 
with a big round eye on each side of the prow, you 
might think you were coming into Chicaga. The crowd 
at the dock would dispel that illusion. They do the 
least with the most noise of any crowd I ever saw. The 
process of landing is like a true Irish debate, everybody 
talking and nobody listening. The men wear roomy 
garments of blue denim and tie their little felt caps on 
with their queues. One of them is apt to offer you a 
ride on a "licensed wheelbarrow." The wheelbarrow 
is a favorite mode of locomotion among the lower 
classes, and they spin along the Bund side by side with 
the more aristocratic rikshas and carriages. They have 
a big wheel, on which the weight rests, are pushed by 
a man, of course, and are divided in the middle by a 
little railing. It isn't unusual to see a family riding on 
one side with a pig strapped on the other — a heavy load 
for one coolie, and he walks with a queer tottering gait 
that is painful as he balances the lumbering barrow. 
Sometimes they are very unevenly loaded and must be 
very hard to manage. 

The rikshas have swelled and the lanterr^s have shrunk. 
In fact, we are in a new, totally strange country, and 
must focus all over again — excuse the photographer's 
term — in religions, traditions, race, customs and cos- 
tumes. I'm surprised to find the Chinese men so much 
more attractive than the Japanese. They are a much 
liner race physically, much more intelligent looking and 
their dress is both more comfortable and more pictur- 
esque. There is a crudeness of coloring in things Chi- 

103 



One "Way Round the World 

nese, but among the well-to-do the rich brocaded fur- 
lined garments of the men and the elaborate embroidered 
head dresses and jackets and trousers of the women are 
very beautiful. We all liked Shanghai. It is gay and 
cosmopolitan, a curious mixture of the familiar and the 
strange. Along the Bund, the street facing the harbor, 
are the concessions made by the Chinese government to 
the different nations, and you may see every flag from 
the tri-color to the Union Jack floating in the breeze. 
There is no general city government, and each conces- 
sion has a post-office and is guarded by policemen of its 
own nationality. 

The most picturesque figures of the street are the po- 
licemen of the English quarter, the tall, dark-skinned, 
fierce-looking Sikhs from India, of whom the Chiiijse 
stand in wholesome awe. They wear a dark uniform, 
but their heads are enveloped in a huge red or vari-col- 
ored turban as big as a keg. We stayed long enough 
to become familiar with the streets and to fall victims to 
the brocade and the silver dealers in the Hon an and 
Nanking roads. All the streets in the city are called 
roads. The silver, too, is crudely chiseled compared 
with Japanese work, but it is very curious and pretty. 
One of my purchases was an odd big silver lock that I 
had seen the children wearing. It was attached to a 
hoop that hung around the neck, and I learned that the 
hoop was locked so as to keep away the evil spirits. 
Sometimes they put earrings in the boys' ears to make 
the evil spirits think they are girls. Girls are not worth 
their attention it seems. The Chinese brocades are 

104 



In Old Shanghai 

ravishing, rich heavy silks that stand alone and to be 
bought for a half or a third of what we pay for them at 
home. Fur, too, is tempting, for it is very cheap, par- 
ticularly a fine quality of fleecy Angora. The "tailors" 
who waylay you at the Astor House will make anything 
from street dresses to party capes and do it very well. 
They always come to the hotel to bring samples and fit 
you, and they will copy anything you give them exactly. 
One day I had occasion to look my tailor up at his place 
of business. Never shall I forget the dirty little hole in 
the wall that was his establishment, and I marvel that 
anything white ever came out of it. It is always so in 
China, and if you are pleased with results you should 
by no means inquire into the causes. 

One night we went to see some opium smokers in 
what I suppose would correspond to a cai.6 in France. 
The process was new to me. We went into a dimly- 
lighted room where men were lying on divans either 
busy preparing their pipes and smoking them or dream- 
ing the hours away in lazy content. There was a pun- 
gent, disagreeable odor in the air, the smell of the 
opium. It is a pasty, dark substance that comes in lit- 
tle porcelain pots, and the smoker very carefully melts 
and rolls a bit of it into a pill which he finally sticks on 
a peculiar flute-like pipe by means of a long pin and 
smokes it over a small lamp. "Hop" they call it. "No 
good for me," said one man we were watching, who 
knew a little English and was quite talkative. 

After we left the opium smokers we went to a Chinese 
theater, where I saw all the devils and hobgoblins of my 



One Way Round the "World 

imagination, in the flesh. The house was full of well- 
dressed men and women, chatting and smoking, and im- 
mediately on our arrival a courteous attendant offered 
us each a steaming wet cloth to wash our faces with. 
We declined with thanks and turned our attention to the 
play. The orchestra furnished a crash of shivering dis- 
cords that never for one instant ceased, and there seemed 
to be plenty of action in the plot. Time is money and 
money is silver, and as silver is depreciated in China It 
may account for the depreciation of time. Skits and 
curtain raisers last about six weeks over here, and they 
go to their plays by the year. In this particular one the 
make-up of the principal characters would have fright- 
ened a small child into fits. One of the ogres had his 
face painted in blue and white stripes, like the tennis 
flannels that used to be popular, and his glassy eyes 
rolled around in a way to make you shudder. There 
were some really clever acrobats who jumped about in 
curves rivaling the twists of the Chinese characters. 
They were bare to the waist and elicited the greatest 
applause by springing high In the air and falling to the 
bare floor, alighting on their shoulders with a thud that 
it seemed would break every bone In their bodies. They 
were finely built, muscular fellows, and I suspect that 
they have discovered the secret of turning Into India 
rubber. 

Another day we went over to the Chinese Shanghai, 
the old part within the walls. They say that it is one 
of the worst cities in China, and I breathe a prayer that 
it may be so. I can not imagine a place more liberally 

ic6 



In Old Shanghai 

and thoroughly frescoed with filth. There is no deny- 
ing that many of the Chinese are dirty, foully dirty. 
There is some excuse for it, though, for the struggle for 
existence with them is pitiful. Ten silver cents a day ; 
five cents of our money — so many cash they call it — is a 
princely income to many of them. All their dealings 
are in cash, the copper coins with holes in them that 
they string and wear around their necks. At the pres- 
ent rate of exchange you get a thousand odd cash for a 
silver dollar. In the interior, bank notes are unknown, 
and if you haven't Mexican dollars, you can carry a bar 
of silver and break off pieces as you want them. You 
may even pay your hotel bill with bricks of tea dust. 
The inconvenience of these methods doesn't appeal at 
all to the Chinese mind. 

The streets of the native city in Shanghai are narrow 
and dark and tortuous, a maze through which you 
couldn't possibly find your way without a guide. On a 
rainy day the water would drip from both eaves on your 
umbrella. A narrow sedan chair can be carried through 
them, but it is a squeeze that discommodes the entire 
street, and the coolies have to go to a corner to turn 
around. The houses crowd so close together that "they 
leave for the eye's comfort only a bare streak of blue," 
and there must be many places which the sun's rays 
never find. The shops are curious as ever, and I was 
relieved to find the carpenters sawing away from their 
toes once more. We were interested, too, in the many 
fanciful green jade ornaments, a favorite with the Chi- 
nese. 

107 



One Way Round the "World 

We visited a joss house, burnt some joss sticks and 
offered up a string of silver paper prayers, by putting it 
in an oven built for that purpose. The Chinese idea is 
that anything which is burned is converted into air and 
reaches the gods. At their funerals they carry any 
quantity of eatables in the procession. The gods are 
supposed to feast on the odors, and the mourners regale 
themselves with what is left. In one procession I saw 
at least a dozen roast pigs, each one swung over the 
shoulders of two coolies, and tray aftei tray of cakes 
and other eatables. 

I mustn't leave the subject of the old city before I 
tell you about the smells. It would be a sad injustice 
to the most, striking features to leave them out. They 
are far too vivid, though, to do justice to in black and 
white. Yet we are told they are hardly noticeable now 
compared with what tbey are in summer! You may 
have lived a happy, untroubled life in which you have 
never had to classify smells, but you would come to it 
in China. There are smells and smells. Some smells 
are bad, but you feel that they maybe good for you. 
Some are hopelessly bad. This is the kind that flourishes 
in the Flowery Kingdom ! Take the extreme opposite 
of the odors of Araby ; condense them ; and you will 
have an approximate of the foul stench that assails your 
nostrils as you walk in Chinese streets. The subject 
gets to be a joke with travelers. If we didn't laugh 
about it we would surely weep. 

I remember that a friend who has made this trip wrote 
me that he was trying to lay his hand on a Chinese guide- 

io8 



In Old Shanghai 

book that he had seen advertised somewhere, and that 
he would try to get it in time to reach me at Shanghai. 
"If I do not," he said, "I shall have to leave you to 
tackle the smells unaided." The guide-book failed to 
appear in the Shanghai mail, and his vigorous expres- 
sion of my fate comes back to me with full force. The 
smells are awful. 

There is no guide-book for China, at least none that 
we have been able to find, and we shall be at the mercy 
of guides for information. Shanghai is set down on 
the globe trotter's itinerary as a place where there is 
nothing to see. That must mean that there is nothing 
which can not be seen in other places, for there is so 
much that is novel and interesting. I shall remember 
it as the place where we first saw the poor, tortured lit- 
tle feet of the Chinese women. The custom is much 
more prevalent than I had supposed, and it is really 
unusual here to see a woman whose feet have not been 
boimd. Their feet differ a good deal in size, but the 
soles of some of the smallest shoes are actually not 
more than two and a half or three inches long. When 
they are as small as that the women can hardly stand 
alone and have to be helped when they walk. What a 
singular custom it is. There is something repulsive 
about it, too, as well as painful, something hoof-like and 
animal about the stumps enclosed in the little pointed 
embroidered shoes. The women are really crippled 
for life, and once done the mischief can not be reme- 
died even if they wanted to remedy it. There is a hor- 
rible fascination about the tiny misshapen feet, and for 

109 



One Way Round the "World 

the first few days, whenever I saw a woman hobbling 
along, I would always find my eyes riveted on her feet, 
wandering just how they have been distorted and what 
the real shape of the foot was. In Wen Chow (this 
is anticipating, but I'll tell you about it now) a pretty 
young Chinese girl showed us her foot, something that 
they very rarely do, so I can describe it to you just as it 
is. It was a shocking sight, and not one that one would 
want to see twice. 

The foot-binding is one of the time-honored customs 
of the country in many provinces and in that way inter- 
esting. An appeal was once made to the emperor to 
forbid it, but he replied that it was a custom of his peo- 
ple with which he could not interfere. Truly fashion is 
more mighty than emperors. One of its vagaries was 
the style of extremely pointed toes which has just had 
its rise and fall in our own enlightened country. They 
were as far removed as they well could be from the 
natural shape of the part of the human form divine 
which they were intended to cover. 

Nga Chiae pulled off her tiny embroidered shoe, 
then slipped off a kind of cotton stocking, shaped like 
the shoe. Then she deftly unwound the bandages that 
had bound the foot and kept it from development. You 
would have hardly recognized the member as a foot. 
When it was small and pliant, the small toes had been 
turned directly under the sole leaving only the great toe 
free, and it is the great toe that fits in the point of the 
shoe. The heel is abnormally developed and stands 
out from the front part of the foot like the heel of a 

no 



In Old Shanghai 

heavy boot. Above the little shoe where the instep is 
free there was an ugly knot that looked almost as big as 
my fist. I suppose that lump rises up because the 
body is thrown so far out of equilibrium. When the 
girl stands, her full weight rests on the heel and the 
narrow pointed foot and great toe, under which the 
other toes are bent. What a wicked, wicked thing it 
seems to deform and distort a child's healthy little foot 
until it becomes a hideous monstrosity like that. The 
little girls cry for two years with the pain. Yet the 
Chinese retort that their fashion of compressing the feet 
is no stranger than ours of compressing the waist, and 
is not nearly so harmful to the health. '■'■Chacun a son 
gout^^' as a Frenchman would say. 



It! 



xn 

A Week in Wen Chow, China 

T was the "Poo Chi" that carried us from Shanghai 
to Wen Chow, for a visit with Dr. and Mrs. Hogg, 
our good English friends of the "Doric." "Poo Chi" 
means everlasting affluence, I believe, and there is an 
affluence of good will and good cheer aboard her that 
makes her well named. Captain Froberg is a tall, 
handsome fellow, as genial as he is good looking, one 
of nature's noblemen. He is a Swede ; the first engin- 
eer is a Scotchman, the first officer is an Englishman 
and the second officer is an American. They tell me 
that nearly all engineers are Scotch, and Mr. MacGregor 
says that if you stick your head in any engine room and 
sing out, "Hello, Mac!" you are sure to get an answer. 
Mr, MacGregor was the fourth passenger, a wonderfully 
well informed Scot who, I am sure, could tell me a 
great deal more about the United States of America 
than I could tell him. 

These sailors spin the most entertaining yarns, whether 
they are sitting on the capstan or at the dinner table, and 
Miss Landlubber is picking up a pocket dictionary full 
of nautical terms and a volume of good stories. For 
instance, a "wind jammer" is a sailing vessel, and on the 
stories I wouldn't venture to begin. 

112 




■jl,yk , ^;; 







CHINESE COFFINS AWAITING BURIAL 



-i 



A "Week in Wen Chow, China 

One doesn't have to go far inland to see the real 
China, practically unchanged, and Wen Chow forty 
miles up the Ou river has little that is jarring in the 
w^ay of modern improvements. The trip down from 
Shanghai is delightful, and I don't know why Wen 
Chow shouldn't be on the good books of sightseers as 
well as otxt-of-the-way Canton. The "Poo Chi" 
threaded her way among the islands just off the coast, 
and in many places the scenery is as lovely as in Japan's 
Inland Sea. The water, though, is yellow and thick 
with mud, and the sails of the junks, with an eye for 
harmony, are a rich tobacco brown. The mountain 
sides are checkered with fields and striped with rows 
upon rows of tombs. China is one great graveyard and 
the Chinaman's first duty is to worship at the tomb of 
his ancestors. In the angles of the old battlemented 
wall around Wen Chow we saw numerous coffins con- 
taining bodies, which were put there, we were told, un- 
til the relatives of the deceased could get enough money 
to bury them with the ceremony they desired. 

The few days spent with Dr. and Mrs. Hogg and 
Mr. and Mrs. Soothill in their pretty homes at Wen 
Chow, are never to be forgotten — days to mark with a 
white stone, as Du Maurier says. The lives of these 
cultured, charming people, who have given up home 
and country to perform a labor of love among the de- 
graded and suffering Chinese, are an inspiration to the 
most thoughtless. It is an atmosphere of which one 
breathes deeply as one does of a cool, bracing wind. 

Our stay was one round of tiffins and dinners and 
8 113 



One Way Rownd the "World 

pleasure excursions. Wen Chow hadn't been so gay 
for a year, they said. One morning we went far up the 
river on a house boat, carried by an obliging tide that 
turned around in the afternoon and brought us back 
again. The captain was host that day, the weather per- 
fect, the tiffin irreproachable and embellished by some 
of Li Hung Chang's champagne, at least some that was 
ordered for the "Poo Chi" when the viceroy's suite 
made a trip on her. We landed at several of the Chi- 
nese villages along the banks, where I attracted as much 
attention as one of Barnum's freaks. The women ex- 
amined my gloves wonderingly, and when I took them 
off were lost in admiration of my fair, soft hands — fair 
and soft compared with theirs. The Chinese women, 
as well as the Japanese, admire a fair skin, and as nature 
never supplies them with one they use powder liberally. 
That day they even turned up my dress skirt to examine 
tlie lining and the underskirts. The houses of the villages 
were squalid and dirty — no more, how^ever, than I have 
seen in other parts of the world. We had a lively time 
finding our way back from one place to the landing, 
though it was in full view all the time. The narrow 
paths skirt the rice fields, in which the water is very wet, 
and the fields are laid out with about the same regular- 
ity as the patches in a crazy quilt. In some places buf- 
faloes were drawing a primitive plow made of a bent 
piece of wood ; not our bison that we call buffalo, but 
a queer scant-haired animal that is much more like it- 
self than anything else that I can think of. Their coat, 
or lack of it, made me think of a Mexican hairless dog. 

114 



A Week in Wen Chow, China 

Buffalo milk, by the way, is the only kind to be had in 
Wen Chow, and it and the butter made from it are rich 
and good. 

The streets of the city were narrow and smelly and 
crowded and noisy, though full of life and interest, and 
after a morning or an afternoon in them we v/ould step 
into the restful flowery "compound" with a sigh of re- 
lief. Compound is the odd name given to the walled 
enclosure in which foreigners live. One day we called 
at the house of a rich merchant where we made the ac- 
quaintance of the whole family and were shown all over 
the house, a palatial one for China. The dog and the 
baby were afraid of us, and though they became some- 
what reassured, they eyed us with trepidation to the last. 
Tea was served in cups with lids, and some delicious 
sweet cakes made of small oily seeds. The cup must 
be taken with both hands — it would be a gross breach 
of etiquette to take it with one, and it is also au fait to 
extract the tea between the lid and the cup without tak- 
ing the lid off. There is a suggestion for 5 o'clock tea 
enthusiasts along with the three-cornered cup and sou- 
venir spoon inflictions. Not that I object to the bever- 
age that cheers but not inebriates, but to the impossible 
cups and spoons. 

Another time we received a call from a Chinese mother 
and daughter. They were elegantly gowned, I should 
say jacketed and trousered, and I wish you could see 
their calling cards, a style to delight an anarchist, flam- 
ing red with big black characters. The ladies arrived 
and were carried away in sedan chairs, swung by two 

"5 



One Way Round the Wotld 

poles on the shoulders of coolies. We often rode in 
them ourselves, but I always preferred to walk. They 
crowd the streets so badly and make it very uncomfort- 
able for the pigs, poor things, for they have to get out 
of the way too, and do so hate to do so. I've seen many 
a porker assisted squealing on his way, and once I had 
a dog fight right under my chair. The Chinese remarks 
that filled the air must have been intense to a degree, 
but fortunately, I didn't know them from quotations 
from the Bible. The Chinese have not the innate cour- 
tesy of the Japanese, and it is just as well sometimes 
not to know what they say. 

One evening just at dusk we saw a bride dress for the 
marriage ceremony which was to take place several miles 
in the country. When we went into the room she was 
dressed in a long robe of green and black, and over this 
the wedding garment was slipped. It was a gorgeous 
affair of red and gold, and on her head they put a heavy 
head-dress of what looked like our artificial flowers. 
They were carved out of wood, however, painted and 
gilded. The bridegroom's gift to the bride is a hairpin, 
which she wears at the wedding. Her trousseau is car- 
ried ahead of her in red wooden boxes. Red is the 
color for weddings and white is the color for mourning. 

The bride was a sweet-faced, very young girl. When 
she came out of the house to get into the chair she had 
a square of red cloth thrown over her head and head- 
dress. The head-dress is enormous, so it had a most 
grotesque effect. 



ii6 



A Week in Wen Chow, China 

The bride's parents do not appear at all at the wed- 
ding, but are supposed to stay at home and weep. The 
poor little lonely bride, who is often to be married to a 
man she has scarcely seen, gets into a gorgeously deco- 
rated sedan chair, a box-like affair that must be far from 
comfortable, and the door is locked and not opened until 
the bridegroom unlocks it at his father's house. 

Sometimes in the hot summer weather the head-dress 
is so heavy and the veil so stifling that the girl faints in 
the chair. The chair we saw was decorated with many 
candles placed so recklessly near the inflammable deco- 
rations that I felt anxious for our little bride's safety. 

The marriage procession is as elaborate as the means 
of the parties will allow. 

There are lantern bearers and musicians who wear red 
jackets and carry big fans. There are usually brides- 
maids, except that they are not maids but middle-aged 
women, and the resplendent chair is carried by four 
ragged coolies very much out at the elbows. 

Nothing is ever done quietly in China, and there is a 
vast amount of shouting and arguing done before the 
procession is finally off. 

The ear-splitting music either accompanies the din or 
drowns it altogether, and the fire-crackers crack merrily. 
At the marriage there is feasting for several days. 

We came away from Wen Chow with a tremendous 
snapping of the fire-crackers which hung in long strings 
in the "compound" and at the dock and were carried in 
front of us through the streets — not in our honor, I must 
explain, but in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Heywood, who, 

117 



One Way Round -the "World 

after five years of good missionary service at Wen Chow, 
have been called to the field in Ning Po, and came away 
with us. There was a crowd of natives at the dock to 
see them off, and the tears in many eyes were a touch- 
ing tribute to the love and esteem in which Mr. and 
Mrs. Heywood were held. 

"Good-bye, heart of the river," said little Frank Hey- 
wood in Chinese, for he chatters Chinese with his amah 
faster than he can English with his mother. 

"Good-bye, heart of the river!" He was looking at 
the island, with its two sentinel pagodas. 

"Good-bye, heart of the river," said I, as I answered 
the signals of the little group of fluttering handkerchiefs 
on the docks till they grew so small that they looked 
like butterflies dancing in the sunlight. "Good-bye, 
Wen Chow! " 

I had left a part of my heart there in good keeping. 



ii8 



xm 

In the China Sea 

WE are on board the "Rohilla," bound for Hong- 
Kong. She is a stanch vessel of the Peninsular 
and Oriental Steam Navigation Company plying be- 
tween Shanghai and Bombay, and affords another of 
the swift transitions of which the Orient is full. Just as 
we were becoming accustomed to the Celestial, with his 
yellow skin, almond eyes and garments of rich brocades, 
we find ourselves among dark-skinned, red-turbaned 
East Indians — nor is that all. The crew of the "Ro- 
hilla" is a curious mixture of nationalities. Not a pig- 
tail in sight. The captain, chief officers and stewards 
are conventional Englishmen, the waiters are a mixed 
Portuguese and Indian blood called Goanese, the stokers 
are Punjaubers from the Punjaub district in India, the 
sailors are picked up around Bombay, and the coal trim- 
mers are thick-lipped Africans from Zanzibar. 

I said not a pig-tail in sight, but there is one, belong- 
ing to a passenger, Tong Saey Chee, who is going with 
his family to Hong-Kong. Tong is what is known as 
the compredor of a big Russian tea house. A compre- 
dor is a middle man between the native producers and 
the foreign buyers, and it is he who gets the biggest 
"squeeze." Tong is evidently very wealthy, and his 

119 



One Way Round the World 

family wear the most elegant clothes we have seen. 
They are dressed in Chinese fashion, but the wife has 
enormous sparkling solitaires in her ears and the little 
girls have big stones with strings of pearls hung from 
them. The son is a sturdy, fine-looking boy, and his 
father tells me he is only eight years old. The feet of 
one of the little girls are so small that her amah has to 
help her when she walks. She wears the elaborate em- 
broidered band around her head and her hair is all drawn 
to one side just over the ear and braided in one braid 
that is finished with a long heavy crimson silk tassel. 
She is a friendly little thing — they all are — but I can 
only talk with the father, who knows a little pidgin 
English. 

All grammar abandon, ye who learn pidgin. I'm 
afraid I haven't yet mastered the subject, but I can give 
you a few examples of it. Pidgin is supposed to be a 
corruption of the word business, though I think that de- 
rivation rather a strain on one's credulity. In the first 
place, a means of communication was necessary between 
foreigners and the Chinese, and besides, the dialects of 
the different provinces in China are so dissimilar that 
though the written language is the same the people can 
not understand one another. A man from Ning Po can 
not understand a man from Wen Chow, yet they are 
not a day's steamer-ride apart. If you ask a Shanghai 
boy on the boat to buy something for you in Ning Po 
he will say, "No can buy, no sabe speak." 

This pidgin language that has sprung up is used be- 
tween English and Chinese and oddly enough between 

1 20 



In the China Sea 

the Chinese themselves when they can not understand 
one another in their own language. It seems to be a 
simplified English, with superfluous words weeded out 
and the most prominent words put in the most prominent 
place. Some of the funniest expressions are said to be 
a literal translation of the Chinese idiom. John calls a 
side wheel steamer an "outside walkee" and a stern 
wheel an "inside walkee." 

"Piecee" is a favorite word. The first officer of the 
"Doric" was known as the first piecee mate. When 
we went up the Ou from Wen Chow we told the boy 
who served as master of ceremonies that we wanted to 
go to where three piecee river came together. You 
give an order something like this: "John, go topside 
and tell one piecee gentleman I want see him." Top- 
side is up on deck or upstairs. 

When there is a no in the sentence it usually comes 
first and a Chinese will always answer yes to a question 
whether he means yes or no. "Can do," or "No can 
do," says the tailor. "Have got," or "No have got." 
"My no sabe." When you are -calling and want to 
know if a gentleman is in — "Boy! Master have got.^*" 
"Yes," he will answer, "Master no have got." 

Chop chop is fast and chin chin is a word that means 
a sort of congratulation or greeting. Chow is food and 
chit is a card or bill. Sabe is to know or understand. 
"Boy! No wantchee wait, wantchee go chop chop to 
hotel." The food at the hotel is known even among 
Europeans as the chow, and you are told by people who 
are circling in the opposite direction from yourself what 

121 



One Way Round the World 

you may expect in the way of chow further on. There 
is a certain hotel where the chow is notoriously bad, 
but which is always full, because it is the best in the 
place. "What can you expect?" said a Calif ornian. 
"If I had such a cinch as that I'd feed my guests on 
rosin." Squeeze is the expressive word for a commis- 
sion, and every Chinese in the empire except the last 
one squeezes somebody beneath him in rank or position. 
There are always big painted eyes in the prow of a 
boat. "No have got eye, no can see, no can see no 
can sabe," reasons the sailor, and he really believes it. 
It is a good joss, good luck, for a small vessel to cross 
the bow of a large one, and that superstition gives the 
captains of the steamers no end of trouble and annoy- 
ance. The man in the small boat thinks that the evil 
spirits which are ever following him will swarm to the 
large one when he crosses its bow. Chinese boys do 
not climb trees because they are afraid of the evil spirits 
of the air. 

Hong-Kong, meaning good harbor, is as beautiful as 
it is good. I shall never forget it as I saw it first one 
bright morning. The "Rohilla" came into port at 
night, so we did not stand on deck watching the gray 
line of land rise and widen into hills and valleys and 
plains and the microscopic buildings grow to the size of 
human habitations as we probably would have done in 
day-time. Instead, we stepped out on deck in the 
morning to find ourselves lying in water as blue as a 
sapphire, surrounded by stately ships, with Hong-Kong 

122 




CHINESE JUNK, SHOWING THE EYE 



In the China Sea 

rising in terraces in front of us away up to the Peak, 
over which there hung a filmy cloud. The city made 
me think of a honeycomb, for the houses are all built 
with rows of stone verandas with arched openings which 
give exactly that effect at a distance. Now that I know 
Hong-Kong well and have sauntered often in its busy, 
picturesque streets and along the leafy, fresh green 
paths that line the hillside, I've grown to think it one 
of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. The view 
from the Peak over the harbor and sea is enchanting. 
You are hauled up there by a remarkable tramway 
which slants at an angle that I would not venture to 
guess at. The car is not raised at one end as such cars 
usually are, and as you hang on for dear life you are 
allowed to feel the full force of gravity, principally in 
the back of your neck. Oddly enough, as you look out 
of the windows you have the impression that you your- 
self are on a level and that Hong-Kong and the Peak 
are sliding into the sea. It is a singular illusion. 

One Sunday night we walked down at dusk. Lights 
were beginning to twinkle in the harbor and a great yel- 
low moon hung in the sky just above the horizon. The 
bells were ringing in the cathedral. The city looked 
gray and peaceful, and it seemed like Sunday to us for 
the first time since we left America. At night the 
hundreds of lights in the harbor are so starry that you 
might think a bit of the sky had fallen down to earth. 
The island of Hong-Kong is entirely a British posses- 
sion, and the real name of the city is Victoria. There 
is a bronze statue of the queen in one of the squares, 

123 



One "Way Round the World 

and I'm told that the Chinese all think she is as black as 
the statue is. 

Of society there is plenty. Girls who like to cut a 
wide swath ought to come out to China, for they will 
have enough flattery and attention to turn their heads. 
Susceptible bachelors have a hard time of it, for the 
girls are all popular. It may be that after a while that 
worm in the bud, satiety, will creep in and rob Hong- 
Kong of some of its charm, but for a time it is fascina- 
ting and there are certainly many charming people 
who sojourn here. They do not call it "home," I ob- 
serve. Home is England, or the States, or France, or 
Italy, or Spain — never Hong-Kong. The men-of-war 
and cruisers that are often in port do much to make it 
lively. The U. S. S. "Machias" has been here, and 
goes to-morrow to Canton. She has been dubbed "the 
matchbox" on account of her diminutive proportions, 
but she made a big noise with her salute to an admiral, 
a commodore, and the port the morning she arrived, 
and the papers complimented her on the rapidity with 
which the guns were fired. 

One day we took tiffin with Admiral Monasterio of 
the Mexican navy on board the "Zaragoza," and came 
away with buttons and hatbands to our heart's content, 
beside the recollections of an txnusually pleasant after- 
noon. The fad for collections grows and nothing seems 
to escape. We are beset by stamp dealers on every 
hand, and the value that those valueless bits of paper 
have grown to have is marvelous. 

Everybody goes to Canton, and you can hear almost 
124 



In the China Sea 

as many different opinions of it as there are people to 
give them. "Don't go! Horrible! Fascinating! In- 
teresting! One day is more than you want! You can't 
see the place in a week!" and so on. As usual, the 
best way Is to go and see for one's self. To describe 
it is quite another thing. One reads of the teeming 
millions in China and of the crowded cities, but noth- 
ing can paint the reality. Canton is seven or eight 
hours' ride from Hong-Kong by boat up the Pearl 
river. It is a very yellowish pearl that the river resem- 
bles, if any, and around Canton the water has the ap- 
pearance and consistency of rich and creamy julienne 
soup. It is a pretty ride, between the low green banks 
of the broad river, while beyond lies the line of gaunt 
hills with which China seems to be everywhere guarded. 
The river sights are varied and interesting. There are 
the familiar junks and sampans of Shanghai and Hong- 
Kong, and beside, an odd little boat shaped like a 
pointed slipper, which skates around over the water 
like a water bug, leaving the same straight trail behind 
it. They travel wonderfully fast. Another curious 
craft is a large unwieldy passenger boat, patronized ex- 
clusively by Chinese and run by coolie power. There 
is a sort of treadmill in the stern, and you can see the 
naked coolies straining every muscle as they laboriously 
push the wheel. 



125 



XIV 

Jn Canton 

THE river life at Canton is a wonder. The number 
of souls who are born and live and marry and die 
on board the little sampans that jam the river is not 
known, but it is estimated in the hundreds of thousands. 
There is a social barrier — if I may use so dignified a 
term in connection with such a degraded lot of human 
beings — between the land and the river people, and 
they do not associate or intermarry. The sampans are 
only as long as a good sized row boat, and how families 
live on them is a mystery. Once I saw a little Chinese 
girl with a baby on her back fall into the water, and 
when she and the baby had been pulled on board, ap- 
parently no worse for their ducking, she was slapped 
for her carelessness. 

One of the night sights of Canton is the gorgeously 
decorated "flower boats," where Chinese mandarins 
and the gilded youth go for amusement. The boats 
are flat-bottomed and give space for a good sized room 
which is decorated brilliantly with red and tinsel hang- 
ings and cushions. After the trip down the dark river 
from the hotel in a sampan with weird lights and crafts 
looming suddenly before one, the flower boats seem 
blazing with light and color. They are anchored side 

126 



.1, 




In Canton 

by side and you can walk for a long distance on them if 
you have a care not to fall between. There is plenty 
of Chinese music and many gayly dressed Chinese men 
and women. Some of them are smoking opium, some 
tobacco, many drinking, but there is no disorder and 
they seem to take their larks rather seriously. We were 
escorted thither by "Susan," one of the characters of 
Canton. She was a poor little waif in whom some mis- 
sionaries took an interest, and she developed great busi- 
ness ability, so great that she now owns several sampans 
and is much respected. A small urchin who displayed 
great executive ability in assisting us from one boat to 
another was pointed out as one of Susan's sons. 

Ah Cum, Sr. , and Ah Cum, Jr., were our guides 
and piloted us skillfully through the maze of streets of 
the city. 

All the foreigners in Canton live on the island of 
Shameen, which is only reached by bridges and is 
guarded by detachments of soldiers in flowing red jack- 
ets decorated with black hieroglyphics. The Chinese, 
by the way, consider fighting degrading and have no 
respect for their soldiers. At night the gates of the 
bridges are all locked and no one is allowed to pass. 
This is done for the safet}' of the foreigners, and at 
times they have been in great danger there. "Foreign 
devils," the Chinese call us, and the great mass of them 
do not know that a white man exists. Some of them 
have become enlightened, our late notable guest, Li 
Hung Chang, for instance, but what a very little could 
a thousand Li Hung Changs do in a lifetime to move 

127 



One Way RoancJ tlie "WoAd 

the dead weight of superstition, prejudice and ignorance 
that hangs over four hundred millions of people ! 

But Canton! Can you imagine miles upon miles of 
narrow, dark, dirty streets, winding and tortuous, 
where the dismal gray walls almost press against one 
another, so closely are they crowded? Well, adorn the 
walls with a quantity of multi-colored bills, then im- 
agine a perfect shower of mysterious long, narrow sign- 
boards hanging in the air, through which few rays of 
sunlight manage to creep. Crowd and jam these pas- 
sageways with pig-tailed men and moon-faced women 
and roly poly youngsters with goblin ears on their caps, 
add dogs, and chickens, and pigs, and smells to the 
collection, and you'll have an idea of Canton. I don't 
think there is a street more than eight feet wide in the 
city. They are paved with slippery, damp flagstones 
that have a habit of tipping up treacherously at one end 
when one steps on the other. Horses are almost un- 
known, I should say altogether unknown if I hadn't seen 
one official, evidently of highest importance, riding a 
poor little scrub of a white pony who looked as if he 
had seen much better days. Loads are all carried on 
coolies' shoulders, balanced and hanging from a bamboo 
pole. It is a marvel to everyone how the sedan chairs 
are ever forced through the crowds. The whole day 
there is one series of shouts and execrations from your 
coolies, and at night they ring in your ears in your 
dreams. They seemed to me to shout "So long!" but 
no doubt that was a mistake. If a man who is in the 
way doesn't make haste to get out they do not hesitate 

128 



In Canton 

to assist him, and that not gently. One's nerves are 
apt to be worn to a raveling over the many narrow es- 
capes from collisions and falls. Sometimes the passage 
of the chairs will block the street for a long distance. I 
say so much about this that you may have an idea of 
that first and most lasting impression of the crowded 
population. The beauty of living isn't studied in China. 

I remember I wrote feelingly of smells in my last let- 
ter. Cologne is said to have seventy smells and none 
of them cologne, but I don't think seven thousand would 
cover the large and flourishing family of them in Canton. 
Kind Mr. da Cruz, the Portuguese proprietor of the 
Shameen hotel, thoughtfully provided us with a bottle 
of Wood Violets, for which we at various times blessed 
his name. The smells of the streets are bad enough, 
but the worst stenches come from the foul canals, of 
which there are many, filled with unmentionable abom- 
inations and reeking with filth. 

There are high lights in this truly Rembrandtish pict- 
ure, for in spite of its drawbacks I managed to report 
Canton as "well worth seeing." The streets are a pan- 
orama that is always unfolding, curious and interesting 
and varied. The shops are open and are usually lighted 
from the street, badly lighted goes without saying. 
There is the quarter of the fan dealers, the silk mer- 
chants, the shoemakers, the jade and the firecracker 
sellers, the pawnbrokers, the second-hand stores and 
many gambling establishments, for the Chinese are in- 
veterate gamblers. Mixed in with these are the shops 
where eatables are sold. The vegetables look inviting 
9 129 



' One "Way Round the World 

enough and they have a fashion of arranging their wares 
in patterns which gives an air of neatness to the place 
but I couldn't possibly describe to you the messes of 
hideousness that are sold and eaten. Their greasy cakes 
are fried in grease that seems to have been in use since 
the time of Confucius. The fowls and animals in the 
meat markets are cleaned, and dried in conventional 
patterns by means of small sticks that push them out 
flat, then they are hung up by the tail, if they had 
one in life, or by a leg if they hadn't. We saw cats 
and dogs galore and many a string of flattened rats. I 
suppose you can have rat cutlets in the restaurants, and 
I know I took the precaution to order neither hash nor 
sausage at the hotel. We tried the Canton preserved 
ginger, though, and found it very good. 

The beautifully embroidered Canton crepe shawls, 
that the Wise One says used to be the acme of elegance 
when she was a girl, are to be found in quantities in the 
silk shops. I managed to escape without one, though 
the fascination of buying was strong upon me, but, away 
from the temptation, I am now sure that I would much 
rather have something more modish with the cachet of 
Paris. There is an art in buying as there is in every- 
thing else, and at the last one is apt to feel that he has 
bought everything he did not want and nothing that he 
did. The beautifully embroidered Chinese garments 
have been a continual pitfall for us. When it is cold 
the people put on successive layers of clothes and some 
of the babies are so bundled up that I'm sure they 
couldn't touch the back of their necks with their hands. 

130 



In Canton 

The children are cunning little youngsters and all as 
like as two peas. Indeed, for that matter, so are their 
elders. It has always been a matter of surprise to me 
how people manage to be so different, with two eyes 
and a nose and a mouth. The Chinese don't seem to 
succeed as well as we. It is with the greatest difficulty 
that I remember a face, for there is always that same 
expanse of yellow countenance, lighted by the same 
beady black eyes, with the same dangling queue. I be- 
lieve there is a difference but it is hard to detect. The 
Eurasians, as the mixed Chinese and European blood are 
called, have a fascination forme. There is a fine look- 
ing young fellow whom I often see in the Hong-Kong 
hotel. He wears the Chinese costume, and from under 
his round black cap, with the red button on top, there 
descends a queue, but his skin is scarcely yellowish and 
his features and profile are absolutely Gibsonesque. A 
few of the Chinese wear spectacles, and they are always 
great circles of tortoise shell and glass that make their 
wearers look like owls. And have I told you that a 
soaring poet once referred to the Chinese women's feet 
as "golden lilies!" 

The regulation sights of Canton are less interesting 
than the streets, but they afford a grateful rest from the 
eternal hubbub in the streets and are worthy of mention. 
No doubt they are worthy of study, too, and it has been 
observed that the longer a person lives out there the less 
he is inclined to give positive information on China and 
the Chinese. I'm told that in the interior many of the 
Chinese do not know that there has been a war with 

131 



One "Way Round the "World 

Japan. Trade can not be carried inland because of the 
pirates that infest the navigable rivers and the natives 
tear up a railroad track as a "bad joss." 

Pirates are always beheaded when convicted, and 
there is often an opportunity, for those who want it, to 
witness one of their grisly executions. Visitors are al- 
ways taken to the execution ground in Canton. It is a 
long narrow strip of land near by a pottery, and when 
we saw it it was filled with clay jars that were drying in 
the sun. We did not have the experience of some of 
our friends who were ushered without warning into the 
place to find a dozen headless bodies and as many heads 
lying around on the ground. The men kneel in a line 
with arms folded and heads bowed awaiting their turn. 
Meanwhile they can watch the execution of those who 
come before them ! I suppose they suffer very little in 
anticipation, however, for they are stoics and have ab- 
solutely no nerves. There are diabolical tortures, too, 
compared with which the execution is humane — crosses 
to which victims are fastened and cut in pieces, cages 
in which they can not get out of a cramped position and 
are left to die. Prisoners are taken around with a heavy 
board fastened around their necks, and at the court of 
justice one of our party saw a prisoner unmercifully 
flogged with a bamboo stick. "Bamboo chow chow," 
it is facetiously called. It may be that these modes of 
punishment are suited to the race and act wholesomely 
for the suppression of crime, but they are horrible. 

A pleasant place to raise one's spirits, after such 
sights, is the Viceroy's garden, where Chinese capitalists 

132 



In Canton 

and Americans can afford the rather modest sum that 
entertainment costs. The czar of Russia, who was 
then the czarovitch, lunched there when he was in Can- 
ton. It is a pretty garden with green clumps of bamboo 
and banana plants and beautiful bushes of the decora- 
tive scarlet poinsettia which grows luxuriantly here. 
There is a little lake in it and the effect is very sum- 
mery and lovely. Other places that visitors see are the 
Five Storied and the Flower Pagodas. In another 
place there are 503 gilded images of Buddhist saints, 
including Marco Polo, who looks very foolish in a soft 
felt hat. All the saints have veiy long bulbous ears to 
show that they lived to an honorable old age. 

The vaults where the rich lie in state before they are 
buried are interesting places. They are gay with lan- 
terns and flowers and at a sort of shrine before the coffin 
there is a cup of tea and refreshments for the dead per- 
son. At one side there is a washbowl. The coffins 
are huge affairs made of logs and are said to be very 
expensive. One of them, a lacquered one, in which a 
Viceroy's wife lies, is said to have cost $6,000. She 
died from fright during the bombardment of Foo Chow. 

At another place thei'e is a primitive water clock in 
which the flight of time is registered by the dropping 
of water. All sight-seeing is unsatisfactory for it is 
dangerous to stop long enough to let a crowd gather 
around you. 



133 



XV 

From Hong-Kong to Singapore 

HONG-KONG was interesting to the last, and we 
came away with pleasantest memories of it. I 
like best to close my eyes and see the city as it looked 
at night from the bay. One evening when we were 
over at Kow Loon, just opposite Hong-Kong, we saw 
our old friend, the "Doric," which we had left in Yoko- 
hama, coming steaming up the stream. She was not 
expected until the next morning ; in fact, she had broken 
the record from Shanghai to Hong-Kong, making the 
trip in fifty hours and some minutes. We hurried back 
to our launch, and steaming out to her, we climbed on 
board hardly five minutes after her engines stopped beat- 
ing. I always find myself choosing words which apply 
to human beings when I'm talking of ships, for there is 
something so very human about their mechanical life. 
Their build carries out the idea, too, for they are tall 
and short, slender and stout, bustling and stately, just 
as people are. 

The Doric and her crew were decidedly old friends, 
but there was a crowd of strange passengers aboard who 
didn't seem to belong there at all and with whom I was 
inclined to find fault. 

It had grown dark and we leaned against the rail 
looking down at the jam of sampans below us pressing 

134 



From Hongf-Kongf to Singfapote 

against the ship's dark side, filled with anxious-faced 
Celestials who were shouting their fare to the Chinese 
passengers on board and on the alert for a customer. 
They all carried glowing lanterns, decorated with red 
characters. Beyond, the black water stretched away 
from us, and looking around we found we were hemmed 
in by a trail of starry lights which began at Kow Loon, 
were carried across the stream by the lights of the vessels 
and finished in a burst of scintillating fire in Hong-Kong 
itself. Up and down the hillside the lights hung in 
twinkling strands. It was as pretty as a carnival in 
Venice. 

Another memorable evening was the evening of the 
governor's ball. It was given by the governor of the 
colony at Government House, a beautiful mansion, and 
all Hong-Kong's four hundred were there. The ball 
was the prettiest I've ever seen. The ball-room itself 
is imposing and the gowns of the women were beauti- 
ful ; but the unusual and distinctive touch was the scar- 
let coats of the English officers. Every other man, at 
least, was in dress uniform, and the coats, though rather 
ludicrous as to cut, when examined singly, are brilliant 
in combined effect. 

We sailed from Hong-Kong for Singapore on the 
Sunda, an intermediate steamer of the Peninsular and 
Oriental line. The intermediate steamers do not carry 
the mail but make about the same time that the mail 
steamers do, and are quite as comfortable. The first- 
class passengers were mostly English officers on their 
way home or in charge of the troops we had on board, 

»35 



One "Way Round the World 

and very agreeable gentlemen they were. Big Captain 
Sterling, aide-de-camp to the governor of Hong-Kong, 
whose acquaintance I made at the ball and renewed on 
the Sunda, is six feet four and three-quarters tall. As 
he walked along the decks he was in danger of knock- 
ing the life-boats overboard with his head. His pro- 
portions paled, however, beside those of a Singapore 
man whose height is six feet nine. I didn't see him, 
but he is well-known there, and his height is vouched 
for. 

The Sunda gave us plenty of impressions of Tommy 
Atkins. Tommy Atkins, you know, is the name given 
to every British soldier. He got it from a blank form 
which was once sent through all the army to be filled 
out by the soldiers. A specimen, one was made out and 
it began, "I, Thomas Atkins, do solemnly swear, etc." 
So the name was coined and it has stuck to tlie soldiers 
ever since. 

There is more than one evidence of old England's 
sagacity in the far East. It begins with the safe path- 
way she has so wisely established from one end of her 
dominions to the other, starting with Gibraltar and end- 
ing at Hong-Kong. Her dominant influence is shown 
in the fact that you can speak English all the way around 
the globe, while in the East any other European language 
is rarely heard and almost unknown. All of her mer- 
chant vessels are prepared to carry troops on short no- 
tice, and England will never be caught napping. There 
were accommodations for a thousand men on the Sunda. 
In the harbor at Singapore there was a vessel floating 

136 



From Hong-Kongf to Singfapofc 

the Spanish flag. It was the old Atlantic liner Alaska, 
now turned into a transport ship carrying troops to Ma- 
nila. We looked at her through a telescope and could 
see the soldiers swarming on her decks as thick as flies. 
She was carrying three thousand men, with proper ac- 
commodations for about a thousand, and she was in 
quarantine, having measles, smallpox and typhoid fever 
aboard. Her flag was always flying at half-mast, alas ! 
for there were frequent deaths. 

It is the opinion out here that Spain is making her 
"last kick" for her colonies. Every ship has brought 
younger and younger recruits, and these last are mere 
boys. The news from Manila is as horrifying as that 
from Cuba, and executions go on merrily at the rate of 
three or four a day. A well-known young Hong-Kong 
doctor was shot there a week or two ago for conspiracy 
in the rebellion, and two hours before the execution he 
was married to the girl he loved. There are two sides to 
the question of Spain's giving up her colonies, and one 
doesn't know where to place one's sympathies. 

My remarks on Tommy Atkins seem to have died an 
early death as well as some of the patriots, and I think I'll 
not return to the subject, for my most vivid recollections of 
his presence are an irritating bugle that blew at all hours 
of the day and night and an unsavory odor of onions 
that was very often wafted over to us from his side of 
the ship and nearly sent us to the rail. He wasn't al- 
lowed to go on shore at Singapore, poor fellow, for he's 
apt to enjoy himself so much that he forgets to come 
back to the ship at all. 



One "Way Round the World 

Would you enjoy just here a story of an old Scotch- 
man which is not '■'•inal'h propos?" One evening the 
canny old gentleman was spending the evening with a 
party of convivial friends and about 9 o'clock he arose 
and began walking around solemnly to each of the party 
and saying good-night. "Why, Sandy!" they cried, 
"you're not going, are you?" "No," said he, "but I 
tho't I'd say gudenight while I still ken ye." 

Even the bad sailors made the journey from Hong- 
Kong to Singapore without quiver or qualm. But such 
January weather! I suppose we shouldn't look for 
frost in the neighborhood of the equator, but I haven't a 
Spartan spirit, and I like to grumble about the heat. 
We sat on deck all day with awnings to shelter us from 
the burning tropical sun while drops of perspiration 
trickled down behind our ears and along our spinal col- 
umns. We tried to get in the path of the faint, hot 
breeze and lay in our steamer chairs watching the glassy 
water lazily dimpling instead of rippling — too lifeless 
to do anything but breathe. Down in the dining salon 
the punkahs made the air endurable, but the cabins 
were stifling. In the evenings the moon was so fine that 
there was rarely any of the evening left and sometimes 
some of the morning gone before we could make up our 
minds to go to bed. The punkah is a sort of long fan 
hung above the tables, and swung by a servant, which 
is much used in the East. 

The native of Singapore considers a bit of drapery, a 
brilliant turban and a silver ring around his ankle, and 
it may be his toe, ample costume for a hot climate. 

138^ 




AN ORIENTAL COSTUME 



From Hongf-Kong to Singapore 

Perhaps he's right. The heat is intense and yet this is 
the season of the year by courtesy called winter. The 
thermometer is not so high, but the humidity of the air 
makes the heat very oppressive. It rains almost every 
day of the year, and between sun and shower the most 
unwilling plant must grow and flourish. The bunga- 
lows, as the houses are called, stand in bowers of green. 
Even grim poverty is relieved by the lavish hand of na- 
ture, who weaves her garlands of verdure as carefully 
around the huts of the poor as the homes of the rich. 

The native is a fortunate fellow. Like a true child 
of the tropics, he. is lazy and shiftless, but discontent can 
not be counted among his faults. Pater f amilias has no 
harassing thoughts of Easter bonnets to torment him, 
neither does he need to take much thought for the rai- 
ment of himself or his family. A scrap of cloth without 
stitch or seam is all that is required for the older ones, 
and the little boys and girls omit costumes altogether. 
Fruits and nourishing nuts are to be had for the seeking, 
and there is always some warm and sufficiently comfort- 
able place to lay his head. What wonder that he works 
only when he is driven to it. 

The business of the place is almost entirely in the 
hands of the Chinese, but in the stream of humanity 
that swirls and eddies and then flows on through the 
strait almost every nation of the globe is represented. 
The resident commvmity, too, is very cosmopolitan and 
includes almost all the nations of the East. There are 
Singhalese and Javanese, Indians, Chinese, Klings from 
the Madras coast, Japanese, men from Borneo, wild, for 

139 



One "Way Round the "World 

all I know, New Zealanders, Burmese, Siamese, all 
castes of Hindoos, Chetties, and many more. The inter- 
marriage of the races and the mixture of blood adds to 
the confusion of the new-comers, and I'm sure it would 
be a long time before I could recognize them all readily. 
Their color varies from a yellowish cinnamon to ebony. 
The familiar riksha is one of the means of locomotion, 
but the favorite is a queer little bus called a gharry, 
drawn by a diminutive pony who is as tough as a pine 
knot and trots along with his heavy load at a brisk pace. 
Raffle's Hotel, named for the illustrious Raffle who 
founded the colony, is a lovely place with wide, cool 
verandas and many windowed rooms which look out on 
a luxuriant green garden filled with flowering shrubs 
and decorative palms. The Botanical Garden, too, is 
a place which everybody goes to see. It is a rarely 
lovely garden but a bit disappointing to me because it 
looked in many places much like our parks at home, and 
I had expected something strange. The jungle with its 
wilderness of wild creeping things is much more beau- 
tiful. Tigers still roam there. They swim over from 
the mainland to the island and occasionally the Sultan 
of Johore gives a tiger hunt which is of great interest to 
sportsmen. It is said that a native is eaten by a tiger on 
an average eveiy day in the year, but tliat is probably 
an exaggeration. 

The Chetties are interesting figures of Singapore 
streets. They come from India and are a rich and in- 
fluential caste of money-lenders. There was a time 
when their word was as good as their bond, and in case 

140 



From Hong-Kong to Singapore 

of a failure the obligations of one were met by the oth- 
ers, but in the last few years some losses have been too 
heavy for them and they have lost the prestige they had. 
They are tall, dark, powerful fellows, scantily clothed 
in white. They shave their heads and around their 
necks they wear a massive ornament of pure gold. On 
their foreheads between their eyes they put a sticky sub- 
stance which dries in a hard, round white wafer. I'm 
always thinking what capital ghosts they would make 
on a dark night, with only wafer, teeth, eyeballs and 
winding sheet in evidence. 

It was our good fortune to see a procession which 
takes place annually when the god of silver is taken out 
for an airing and worshiped with many barbaric rites. 
We drove in a gharry from the hotel to the native part 
of the city v/here there is a Hindoo temple. The streets 
were full of picturesque figures in gay-hued clothes, bent 
on merry-making, apparently, more than worship, as 
holiday crowds are apt to be. We thought the Indian 
women with their lips and noses and ears pierced with 
silver and gold ornaments the most interesting. There 
were not many of them and the crowd was made up 
principally of men and children. Very few women 
are seen in the streets of Singapore, for the people 
have the Oriental idea of secluding them. I am speak- 
ing of the Oriental population, of course. There is a 
large English population, and some parts of the city are 
as English as England. 

The little brown youngsters were a never-failing source 



141 



One Way Round the World 

of amusement to us and the head of the family used up 
a roll of film on snap-shots. 

At the end of the street where we entered we could 
see a gorgeous tinsel arch that seemed to be resting on 
the shoulders of a man, but he was so closely surrounded 
by the crowd that we could not get near enough to see 
him. If we stopped for a moment they crowded around 
us, and knowing that both cholera and small-pox were 
prevalent in Singapore, we didn't care to rub elbows 
with them. The man was evidently dancing, for the 
arch swayed and spun around and there was a jingling 
of bells. Afterward in the temple we saw a procession 
of dancers carrying the same gaudy arches and whirling 
in their frenzied dance. It was our first glimpse of 
barbarism, a revolting picture at which we gazed spell- 
bound. The men were bare to the waist and their 
mouths and noses and ears were thrust through with 
long silver pins which were wet with blood. Their 
arms and chests and backs were literally full of shorter 
silver pins which had been thrust so deep into the skin 
that they stuck and hung there like a bristling coat of 
mail. The men were staggering and half fainting from 
exhaustion and some were supported by a couple of at- 
tendants who prevented them from falling as they tot- 
tered on in frenzied gyrations. The worshipers in 
the tawdry temple gazed at them unconcernedly. Our 
gharry man brought us some of the sticky, whitish 
paste so that we might put a wafer on our foreheads. 
It was decidedly gray with dirt and we rather reluctant- 
ly adorned ourselves to oblige him. He didn't know 

142 




IT-^ 



BY JINRIKISHA IN SINGAPORE 



From Hong-Kong to Singapore 

enough English to explain the significance of it, but I 
afterward learned that the Hindoo decorates himself 
with the paste after his daily devotional ablutions and 
the style of adornment indicates his caste. There are 
hundreds of these castes in India and their complicated 
distinctions have presented the greatest difficulty to the 
authorities who are trying to stamp out the plague in 
Bombay. There would be riot instantly if the laws of 
caste were disregarded. 

News of the plague's ravages reaches us every day, 
and we shall probably have to change our route in India 
and avoid the stricken city. There would be no great 
danger in going through Bombay, for the deaths from 
the plague are almost without exception confined to the 
natives, but all of the ports as far as Malta in the Med- 
iterranean are quarantined against Bombay, and, as we 
should have endless difficulties on that account, it will 
be better to avoid it altogether. 

Just a word about Penang, the most indescribable 
and the loveliest of all places we have seen. Other 
places have been tropical and beautiful but it is in 
Penang that nature's glories are most happily grouped 
and massed. There is a wealth of verdure and a 
wealth of bloom that carpets the rich red soil in won- 
drous harmony of colors, and above it all rise grove after 
grove of regal plumy cocoanut palms that wave so far 
above one's head that they seem to brush the blue sky. 
It is unsafe to call any place the most beautiful in the 
world, for you are sure to see something later that you 

H3 



One "Way Round the World 

like better and have to retract your rhapsodies, but I 
am tempted when I tell you of Penang. 

We were delightfully entertained there by Mr. Jago, 
who has a lovely home and an interesting collection of 
rare orchids and ferns. The feathery fareleyensa, an 
exotic fern suggesting our maidenhair, grows to perfec- 
tion in Mr. Jago's conservatories, in heavy clusters of 
richly shaded, exquisitely tinted green. The orchids too 
are wonderful, those rich radiant blossoms that seem 
the flower children of Mystery and Fascination. Per- 
haps, as Crawford thinks, they are like the soul. 

It was in Penang that I had my first and last taste of 
a durian. The durian has a prickly green surface and 
looks like a huge chestnut burr. It smells, as some- 
body wittily said, like low tide. The taste is fearful. 
Imagine, if you can, a combined flavor of garlic, kero- 
sene, asafetida and axle grease, and you have the aroma 
and the flavor of it. Yet people cultivate a taste for it 
and call it delicious. The mangosteen is another fruit 
of the Malay Peninsula, and it is truly delicious. The 
hard purplish outer shell is broken away, leaving a white 
center that is sweet, with a delicate touch of acidity, and 
has a flavor fit for the gods. However, I would change one 
this minute for a good rosy-cheeked Indiana apple. 

I think it was Byron whose fancy was so airy and 
capricious that he never could love a woman after he 
saw her eat. It is a pity that eating is so popular, but 
in traveling, as elsewhere, one's comfort and happiness 
hinge on the first principles of good things to eat and 
good beds to sleep on. 

144 



../ 



fe 




mm 



'^i-.^O^ 




w 



,5^: : ^ . 




XVI 

The Land of Gems and Flowers 

PEERLESS Ceylon ! Sunny land of flowers and fra- 
grance, majestic forests and sparkling gems. She 
herself is like a radiant jewel lying on the bosom of the 
pulsing sea. 

From this poetic flight you will observe that I have 
been duly impressed by the charms which writers have 
tried in vain to describe and of which poets have vainly 
sung. Who can find adjectives that glow as color does, 
or verbs that smell sweet of spice, or nouns that burn 
like tropical skies.? It is consoling to remember that 
we all have our limitations. As the composer of the 
immortal Boom-de-ay feelingly sang. 

" Shakespeare could write a play-ay 
But he never saw the day-ay 
That he could write Ta ra ra Boom-de-ay." 

Perhaps James Lane Allen could paint as faithful a 
word picture of the jungle as he has of Kentucky woods 
and make one feel the quiver of heat in the tremulous 
air as he does the sharp touch of frost. I think of no 
other writer whose books are so full of atmosphere, as 
we might say of a painting. 
lo 145 



One Way Round the "World 

Colombo is citified and fantastic, with as near an ap- 
proach to bustle as the lazy Oriental is capable of pro- 
ducing. We were pleasantly introduced by being car- 
ried ashore in a "jolly" boat, and tarried awhile in the 
custom-house before going to the Grand Oriental. Calls 
and customs are inflictions from which the traveler to 
the ends of the earth probably does not escape. The 
Grand Oriental is a big, busy hotel that suggests the 
Grand at Yokohama, and has the same miscellaneous 
collection of foreigners under its roof. 

It has a cosy, wide veranda fitted up with wicker 
chairs and tables, where people sit and drink and smoke, 
watching the passers-by in the street or bargaining with 
the insistent vendors of lace and jewelry and pudgy 
ebony and ivory elephants, who swarm around like flies. 
Colombo is supposed to be a great market for gems, 
particularly sapphires, but to begin with, they are badly 
set and then the best of everything is picked up by the 
expert European and American buyers. The dealers 
are a set of the most artistic liars that I have ever met. 
I thought the unprincipled scallawags who keep the 
little shops along the Tiber in Rome the most perfect 
specimens of their kind in existence, but I hadn't been 
to Ceylon. The streets are lined with little jewelry 
shops all displaying very much the same line of wares, 
and I've never heard of any one who succeeded in walk- 
ing along the sidewalk without being pulled into some 
of them. The dealers have no hesitation about selling 
for what they can get, and they unblushingly accept a 
half or a quarter or a fifth of the price that they ask for 

146 




A "JOLLY" BOAT 



The Land ©I Gems and Flowers 

an article. There may be some reliable men among 
them, but I fear Diogenes would get out his lantern. If 
you are a judge, well and good, for the dealer soon finds 
that out and bargains accordingly, but if you are unin- 
formed, as most people are, beware ! I asked a resident 
of Colombo whether there was a shop where a person 
who was not a judge of stones could be sure of being 
asked a reasonable price and he replied, "I'm afraid 
not." Moonstones are plentiful and cheap; there are 
also many cat's-eyes that have the elusive charm of the 
opal, rings upon rings of sapphires and pearls and ru- 
bies, set principally in gypsy fashion. For the lovers 
of the curious there are many quaint bits of old Singha- 
lese jewelry, combs and rings and necklaces. I have 
in my mind an odd barbaric ring set with all the jewels of 
Ceylon, and a unique necklace of strings of seed pearls 
separated by carnelian balls overlaid with a delicate net- 
work of gold. 

Gambling is said to be as great a curse to the Sing- 
halese as to the Chinese. Sometimes you see the cool- 
ies squatting beside their rikshas, watching something 
very intently. They have put a couple of silver coins 
on the shafts of the vehicle and are waiting to see on 
which a fly will alight first. The dealer has the same 
spirit. He will toss, if you like, for a jewel for which he 
asks ten rupees. "Master toss, twenty rupees or noth- 
ing." 

The streets are filled with the same motley crowd as 
in Singapore, though there are few Chinese. There 
are a good many Moors in Colombo. They wear queer 

147 



One Way Round the World 

variegated silk hats, woven like straw, that look like 
inverted waste paper baskets, and a long white coat that 
appears to be an evolution of the Prince Albert. There 
are many families from Southern India, darker and more 
barbaric than the regular-featured, intelligent-looking 
Singhalese. The Kling laborers are figures that would 
make Indianapolitans open their eyes if set down in 
Washington street. As in Singapore, they consider a 
bit of drapery and a brilliant turban ample costume for 
a hot climate and a general absence of superfluity in 
clothing is noticeable. The Tamils make up for the 
deficiency by a quantity of nose and ear ornaments, 
bracelets and anklets. I send a picture of a little Tamil 
bride, ten years old. The piece just above the neck- 
lace with the three hanging amulets shows that she is a 
married woman. Her father is a very rich man and 
her ornaments are all gold. Her dress is silk but with 
the Oriental disregard of detail her skirt is tied on with 
a piece of jute string. The Tamil women cut great 
pieces out of the lobes of their ears and weight them 
down with heavy ornaments. 

The Singhalese girls are very pretty. They have 
large, soft eyes, good features and round, shapely fig- 
ures. They wear odd little low-necked white jackets 
usually trimmed with crocheted lace, a fashion that I 
fancy was introduced by the Dutch, a bright-colored 
skirt and few ornaments. Both men and women have 
a look of refinement and intelligence. The Singhalese 
men are very womanish in appearance. They have 
long curling black hair that is shmy with cocoanut oil 

148 




SNAKE CHARMER AND JUGGLER 



The Land of Gems and Flowets 

and is done up in a knot at the back of their heads just 
as a woman's is. At the top of the head they wear a 
circular tortoise-shell comb. Of garments they have 
few. The real native costume is a yard or two of cloth ; 
in the cities some of the men wear European coats but 
usually they have none. Large checks are still in 
vogue in Ceylon, worn skirt fashion and fastened on by 
a leather belt. 

We used to entertain ourselves at the G. O. H., as the 
Grand Oriental is always called, by watching the per- 
formance of an Indian magician, who sits in front of 
the veranda. He has a vicious cobra that hisses and 
rears its flat head threateningly, and he plays a weird 
tune on a peculiar musical instrument which apparently 
charms the snake. As soon as a little crowd of idlers 
has gathered around him the magician shuts the cobra 
up in a basket and begins his performance. His tricks 
are not elaborate, but they are very skillfully done, quite 
enough so to be entertaining. The man squats on 
the ground not more than six or eight feet from his au- 
dience, and having no accessories in the way of lights 
and curtains, he has to be very expert to deceive. He 
does the mango trick, making the mango shrub grow 
from the seed in a few moments, very well indeed. It 
remained a mystery to all of us. However, the seed 
does its growing under a square of cloth, and that takes 
the edge off of a supernatural flavor that it might other- 
wise have. The tales of the miraculous performances 
of the far-famed East Indian jugglers are not well au- 
thenticated. 

149 



One "W^ay Rotind the World 

The residence part of Colombo is almost as lovely as 
that of Penang, and it has the same low red-roofed bun- 
galows, surrounded by the same flowery gardens over- 
hung by groves of the same graceful cocoanut palms. 
The native part of the city is dirty, with rows of squalid 
one-roomed houses, in which sometimes two or three 
families seem to be living. As a whole the place is 
disgusting, but that doesn't prevent one from coming 
occasionally upon vei"y charming bits of life that delight 
snapshotters and are worthy of a frame and a place on 
a great gallery's walls — perhaps a dark Tamil beauty 
standing in an attitude of easy grace in a doorway and 
showing her white teeth in a smile, perhaps a handsome 
mother walking with an even swinging step and carry- 
ing a brown baby who sits astride her hip and wears 
some silver bracelets and anklets and a silver chain 
around his fat little waist for all his adornments, perhaps 
a shapely brown little boy with a red cap and bright 
eyes. The streets are full of top-heavy carts drawn by 
little bullocks who look ridiculously disproportionate to 
the vehicle and who are driven by a rope tied through 
their nostrils. They are slow but sure and are really 
not so heavily loaded as they appear. The carts have 
a high hooded rush cover that protects from the sun and 
rain and is, of course, very light. The passenger vehi- 
cles are little wagons called hackeries, also drawn by 
diminutive bullocks, and advancing at a rate well suited 
to the Singhalese temperament. I should have nervous 
prostration if I had to ride in them a mile ; fortunately 



150 



a 




The Land of Gems and Flowers 

there are jinrikishas and stout English horses for the 
stranger within the gates. 

One evening we went for a drive along the Galle 
Face road. That distressing name seems to have been 
given to it because there is a peninsula beyond called 
Point de Galle. The place is heavenly. I use the 
world advisedly. The road skirts the sea and there is 
something singularly majestic and grand about the 
ocean there, as it rolls up on the glassy wet beach in 
curling, foaming, thundering white waves. It was sun- 
set. There had just fallen one of those beating tropical 
rains that wash the sky clean and leave it clear and blue 
as a sapphire. The air was sweet and fresh, and the 
damp road, red when it is dry, was a rich maroon. To 
the right lay a level stretch of vivid green, dotted with 
the gay hued figures of natives and fringed at the hori- 
zon with palms. Toward the west the sea and sky 
were one blaze of burnished metallic opal tints. It 
seems as if wind and weather had the same impulsive 
disposition as the children of the tropics. Sun and 
shower follow one another in quick succession, and the 
rain is fierce while it lasts. The glory was quickly 
gone. The fiery tints melted mto gray and the shadowy 
ships sailed away into the dusk. 

That is what we all have — the glory of the skies. 
Perhaps it is the univers-al message. 

A punster would surely make material of the fact 
that Buddha's left eye-tooth rests in Kandy. I don't 
know the tooth's history, that is its early history, 



One "Way Round the "World 

whether it was extracted in life or whether it was deco- 
rously presented after the great teacher's death. I must 
whisper, too, that the sacred tooth which is thought 
worthy of a temple to enshrine it and is an object of 
veneration to 400,000,000 people, is the subject of 
many an irreverent jest among unbelievers. It was 
lately exhibited in honor of some Siamese prince or 
other and somebody who saw it pronounced it the tooth 
of an alligator. If it corresponds with a foot-print of 
Buddha that I paid a few coppers to see, it should be 
about that size. 

The Dalada Maligana or temple of the Sacred Tooth 
is in Kandy, and it is to Kandy we go from Colombo. 
The ride up into the mountains is an interesting and 
beautiful one. The slopes are covered with a strange 
and lovely vegetation and the types of natives are end- 
less. Even the animals are curious, the little hump- 
backed bullocks and particularly the ugly gray buffaloes. 
Sometimes in a marshy place you will see what seem to 
be a lot of gray rocks along the surface of the water, 
but when you see some of the rocks move you discover 
that they are the noses and faces of a herd of buffaloes 
that have placidly waded as far as possible into the 
water both to keep cool and to avoid switching flies. 
Some writer en Ceylon referred to these animals as 
"the mud caressing buffalo," but in my mind I do not 
connect niud with caresses. The little bullocks, which 
are not amphibious, have their hides fancifully decorated 
with stripes and circles and scallops, the scars of cruel 



152 




NATIVE BUNGALOWS NEAR KANDY 



The Land of Gems and Flowets 

cuts that are made with a sharp knife when the bul- 
lock is young. 

Kandy itself is delightful. The air is much cooler 
than in Colombo and the town encircles a pretty artifi- 
cial lake made for the last Kandyan king and intended 
for his own private use. This district has a history of 
bloodshed, horrible cruelty and long warfare with Por- 
tuguese, Dutch and English invaders, but it is at last 
peaceably in the hands of the English and the last 
Kandyan king has been gathered to his forefathers. 
Photographs will tell you the story of Kandy' s loveli- 
ness. My instinct for photographs is becoming so de- 
veloped that I find myself drawing a line around every- 
thing I see and imagining it on a plate. A drive around 
the lake takes one past many cozy bungalows with deep 
pillared verandas and luxuriant gardens. Many of 
them are filled with bushes of poinsettia, flamboyant, as 
it is well named out here. Its gorgeous wheels of scar- 
let and gold are a favorite resting place for the gauzy 
winged flies and brilliant butterflies. By moonlight the 
bold fronds of the palms stand out in black relief against 
the sky. I look in vain for my old friends among the 
stars. They are either so changed in position that I 
can't recognize them or they have disappeared altogether 
beneath the rim of the horizon. One drawback to 
tropical loveliness is the large number of venomous 
creatures that live in the jungles. We have become ac- 
customed to the lively little lizards that play tag on our 
bedroom walls and the giant beetles that bump clumsily 
around the room. Fortunately we haven't had any en- 

^53 



One "Way Round the "World 

counters with scorpions or centipedes, though they say 
that in some places you have to take care to shake your 
shoes in the morning before putting them on. "They 
say," however, is a sad prevaricator. Another draw- 
back is the weekly return of our wrecked washing. 
The garments are washed by men who batter them 
against a rock until they are a delicate pearl gray and 
return them in tatters. 

The Temple of the Tooth may be visited many times 
and always with fresh interest. It is not a beautiful 
place but very curious. The tooth, so a legend runs, 
was formerly at Danta-poora, near Calcutta. Many at- 
tempts were made by the Brahmins to destroy it by fire 
but it always reappeared folded in a lotus blossom. 
Elephants trod upon it, but it rose from the earth in a 
lotus of silver and gold. It was cast into sewers and 
the sewers were immediately transformed into beauti- 
ful lakes. Finally it was carried to Ceylon in the dusky 
tresses of an Indian princess and here it has remained 
ever since. Once a year, in Avigust, there is a grand 
procession called the "Perahara," when the tooth is 
taken from the temple and carried through the streets 
on an elephant's back. It is rarely shown to anyone, 
but has been seen on the occasion of a visit of royalty. 
At that time the Kandyan chiefs appear in their robes 
of state. The robe of state in Kandy is a very compli- 
cated affair, indeed, and it is said there are a hundred 
and fifty yards of silk in it. Most of it is gathered in a 
great wad under the belt, and the Kandyan chief in full 
regalia must be a comical object. His mien is dignified 



The Land of Gems and Flowers 

but the little white ruffles around his ankles are not. 
Opposite the temple is a bell-shaped shrine, called a 
dagoba. These dagobas vary in size from small metal 
ones studded with jewels, which envelop relics, to build- 
ings of gigantic size. The temple itself is enclosed by 
a wall and a moat filled with water in which the sacred 
tortoises are swimming. 

Entering a small quadrangle one goes up a flight of steps 
into a sort of an anteroom to the inner shrine. Along 
the way there are some highly colored Egyptian-like 
frescoes that represent the torments in store for sinners 
— those who pluck the leaves of the sacred bo tree, 
those of a lower caste who insult those of a higher, and 
so on through a list of evil doing. 

The sight in the anteroom is a memorable one. First 
you are conscious only of a terrific tomtoming that is 
fairly splitting your ears. Tomtoms are native drums 
much liked by the noise-loving Oriental, and the drum- 
mers in the temple whack them vigorously. The room 
is crowded with reverent worshipers wearing many 
rich colored fabrics, and occasionally a brown shaven 
priest draped in yellow passes by. The air is heavy 
with the fragrance of flowers which are being sold from 
booths at either side of the room. This is the pretty 
offering that the devout Buddhist offers at the shrine of 
the tootho Only the corolla of the flower is used and 
bushels of them are piled up in fragrant confusiono 
They are renewed every morning so they are fresh and 
dewy. The fragrant plumiera with pure creamy petals 



155 



One "Way Round the World 

and yellow heart, the jasmine and the oleander are 
favorites. 

Passing through a doorway which has elephant's 
tusks on either side, and mounting a steep staircase you 
come to another door elaborately inlaid with silver and 
ivory. Passing through this door you are in the shrine. 
Inside an iron cage is a silver dagoba hung with jeweled 
ornaments, given by the last Kandyan king, who built 
the temple. Inside the large dagoba are seven smaller 
ones studded with precious stones, and under the last 
one rests the sacred tooth in the heart of a golden lotus. 

It is all very barbaric and curious, and it is surprising 
to find in the library a priest who has been to England 
and speaks English admirably. He showed us some 
books written on narrow strips of palm leaf pierced with 
a hole at either end and tied between covers of massive 
silver. They are written with a stylus in the classic 
Pali language, and the priest wrote my name for me on 
a bit of palm leaf, in Singhalese characters. The palm 
is as useful as the bamboo and there is one variety, the 
Talipot, that is said to have 8oi uses. It furnishes sun- 
shades and rain coats, tents, fans, paper, and so on. 

There is a stud of forty fine elephants kept by the 
temple for the Perahara procession. They are not as 
interesting as the big, sagacious fellows that one sees at 
work. These huge but gentle beasts do all kinds of 
heavy work, obeying a word from their masters though 
they could crush them with one blow. One morning 
we saw an elephant which was rolling a big log up a 
hill. We stopped to watch him and he brought it out 

156 




AN ELEPHANT AT WORK 



The Land of Gems and Flowers 

into the road, put it down, and at his master's suggestion 
came over and made a profound salaam to us. In the 
elephant corrals, as the catching of elephants is called, 
when they are not killed the tame elephants help to 
drive the wild elephants into an enclosure and aftei*- 
ward help to tame them. The jungles are full of leop- 
ards, tigers, elephants and monkeys, and all kinds of 
reptiles. The prettiest drive from Kandy is to the 
Peradeniya Garden. The road is one long vista of 
green and bloom, and by the roadside are the mud huts 
of the natives, thatched with palm leaves. There is a 
legend that the palm tree can not live far from the sea 
nor from the sound of human voices. 

The natives tempt me to use again that overworked 
word picturesque. I like best the bright-eyed, brown 
little boys with their ready smile and gleaming rows of 
even, white teeth. They are Palmer Cox's brownies 
in the flesh. The cunning small children wear no 
clothing at all. Fortunately they are black. In the 
distance they caper like animated silhouettes and near 
by a stretch of the imagination turns them into little 
bronzes. The men's lips and teeth are blood red from 
chewing the betel nut. The women are very often 
seen carrying a round earthen water jar which rests on 
the hips. They all seem careless and contented. Din- 
ger is growing at the door and work is irksome. 

The spice trees of the beautiful Peradeniya Garden 
are perhaps the most interesting. It is novel to walk 
about picking up little bunches of green cloves that have 
just fallen from the tree, or nibbling at a green nutmeg 



One "Way Rownd the World 

or chewing a stick of fresh cut juicy cinnamon. The 
cinnamon odor carries farthest, aud \vhcn it is being 
gathered the perfume is wafteil miles and miles out to 
sea. You can pick a bit of cinchona bark from the 
tree or amuse yourself touchiug the sensitive plant that 
carpets the ground in many places. It is covered with 
starry, purplish blossoms aud droops pathetically at the 
slightest touch. The ludia rubber is a stately tree with 
wonderful siuxky roots that stand out of the grouud and 
if bruised exude a whitish rubber. I bought a solid 
ball of the strings wound tight upon one another which 
bounces liuely. The spreading banyan tree nourishes 
and sends its arms to the grouud for support. A beau- 
tiful fan palm is known as the traveler's palm, because 
it holds about a quart of pure water at the base of each 
of its spreading leaves. The cocoa bushes are filled 
with the dark red cocoa pods. There is a curious can- 
dle tree with long green pods that look like candles 
hanging directly from the bark of the tree instead of 
from the branches. The jak fruit, big aud green, but 
with the flavor of a potato, grows the same way. 

The giant clump of bamboos is w^onderful. This 
ambitious member of the grass familj' has stalks that 
are nine inches in diameter and a hundred feet high. In 
the rainy season if you hang your hat on a stalk of 
bamboo at night, you'll have to have a huUler to reach 
it in the morning. 

The TMahawelliganga is a river that almost encircles 
the garden,, Indian anil Singhalese names leave noth- 
ing to be desired. In fact one would be satisfied with 




*l>i<J.\M. 



GIANT BAMBOO 



The Land of Gems and Flowers 

less. This is a list of simple ones. Anuradhapura, 
Pollonarua, Henaratgoda, Nawalapitiya, Rambukkana, 
Kadugannawa. 

Newara-Eliya, humanely shortened to "Nuralia" in 
pronunciation, is a mountain resort far above Kandy 
which is popular with Europeans, but is too much like 
our own mountain scenery to be well worth visiting. 
All the way from Kandy to Newara-Eliya the moun- 
tains are almost entirely covered with tea fields. It is 
the tea which is now being so widely advertised in the 
States, by the government, I'm told, for the benefit of 
the planters. Formerly all this tea land was in coffee, 
but a blight destroyed all the bushes. We saw the en- 
tire process of preparing tea for the market. It is a 
simple one of picking the tender leaves from the low tea 
bushes and rolling and drying them artificially. At last 
the leaves are sifted and sorted and sealed in lead foil 
ready for shipment. 

We leave for Calcutta by the Chusan, in spite of 
ominous reports of the plague and the danger of quar- 
antine. The disease is still confined to Bombay and 
the danger of contagion is very slight. 



159 



xvn 

What We Saw in India 

WE were leaning idly against the rail of the Chusan 
as she lay in the harbor at Colombo. 

"Hop-o-die! Hop-o-die!" called a row of black indi- 
viduals who were sitting on their heels on a rude raft 
made of three logs of wood lashed together. They sat 
at equal distances from one another, as neatly arranged 
as peas in a pod, and each one paddled with a split sec- 
tion of a bamboo pole in lieu of an oar. 

"Hop-o-die! Hop-o-die!" they called, looking anx- 
iously at the people along the rail and evidently on the 
alert for something. 

The Chusan was supposed to sail at lo A. M. from 
Colombo, and there had been a vast hustle and bustle 
and confusion in the Grand Oriental Hotel to get her 
passengers off by that time. The very pulse of the port 
hotel is the arrival and departure of the ocean steamers. 
When they are in port everything is full of life and 
movement. Even the punkahs feel the current and 
flap vigorously. Then when the ships sail away again 
carrying their passengers on with them, or the passen- 
gers have departed for the sights in the interior, the 
hotel settles down into a calm which by contrast is des- 
olate, to be revived in a short season by a new regiment 

1 60 



What We Saw in India 

of globe trotters. One of the pleasantest features of the 
long journey around the globe is the meeting and re- 
meeting of fellow-travelers who have been a steamer 
ahead of you or perhaps a steamer behind, and who 
finally cross your path again. But, as I was saying, the 
Chusan's passengers, after a deal of fuss and tribulation, 
arrived on board in peace and in a perspiration, at lO 
o'clock. A last tempting bit of freight must have been 
at the bottom of it, for we didn't sail until 4 p. m. and 
were left to entertain ourselves, meanwhile, with the 
venders of moonstones and coarse hand-made lace, who 
clambered on board. Bargaining with the Oriental is 
an affair of time and patience and my disposition is be- 
ing ruined by their methods. Besides, I am a jaded 
shopper by this time and it requires something rare or 
unusual to hold my attention. It was much more enter- 
taining to lean against the rail and watch the craft that 
pressed against the ship's dark side. There were big 
cargo boats alongside, filled with boxes and bales that 
the dark-skinned coolies were hoisting on board. Then 
came the smaller passenger boats and a curious craft 
called an outrigger canoe or catamaran. The boat is a 
narrow coffin-shaped affair that stands high out of the 
water, and would instantly topple over if it were not 
held upright by a floating bar of wood that is fastened 
to the side of the canoe by a couple of arching arms. 
They look very ticklish and I should be afraid to wink 
one eye without the other if I were a passenger. 

"Hop-o-die! Hop-o-die!" called the black urchins. 

II 161 



One "Way RotJiKi the Worlci 

"What are they saying?" said I to my neighbor, who 
shall be known as the Gentleman from Madras. 

"Don't you recognize your mother tongue?" he re- 
plied. "They want you to throw a coin and they are 
saying, 'Have a dive ! Have a dive !' " Before we had 
time to find a small silver piece and throw it into the 
water the remarkable quintet arose from their sitting 
position and stood like a row of crows on their shaky 
raft. Their costume was microscopic and their expres- 
sion one of deep solemnity. At a signal they began 
clicking their elbows sharply against their bare sides, 
marking time by the resounding slaps, and suddenly, 
without a word of warning, they burst into song. "Ta- 
ra-ra Boom-de-ay!" they howled, as solemn as owls, 
slapping themselves vigorously first on one side and then 
the other, and singing as if their lives depended on it, a 
garbled version of Lottie Collins' s chef-d' ceuvre. You 
may travel around the globe from pole to pole and I'm 
sure you'll find nothing more comical than the fervent 
rendition of "Ta-ra-ra" which those imps of darkness 
give. We were convulsed with laughter, and a shower 
of silver bits began to fall over the Chusan's side. As 
soon as a coin struck the water there was a kmge from 
the raft, five bodies darted through the air and in a tan- 
gle of brown legs the whole party disappeared under the 
water. In a moment they were up again and one of 
them would triumphantly display the shining silver coin. 
They are clever divers and will even dive under the 
ship for a consideration. 

The devil dancers of Ceylon are a curious institution. 
162 



What We Saw in India 

When anyone of means is very ill he sends for the devil 
dancers. They dress themselves in the most hair-rais- 
ing costumes and dance around the dwelling, beating 
tom-toms and gongs. At a critical point in an illness 
such a racket usually causes a man to rally or kills him 
outright and the devil dancers have the reputation of 
effecting most wonderful cures. Probably the idea is 
the same as with the Chinese, that the noise frightens 
away the evil spirits that are flocking around to take the 
man's life. 

We had a large and flourishing collection of Anglo- 
Indian babies on board the Chusan, pink-and-white 
wholesome-looking youngsters who were born in India 
and had been home to England for a visit. They trotted 
around the deck, followed by their Indian "ayahs," as 
their nurses are called, and made life alternately delight- 
ful and miserable for the passengers. 

I talked often with the Gentleman from Madras. He 
was one of those cordial Britons who has lived for years 
in the East and is distinctly more agreeable than his 
countrymen at home. The Gentleman from Madras had 
India and its history at his tongue's end and was ever 
ready to tell some of his interesting experiences, per- 
haps of an exciting tiger hunt, perhaps of an audience 
with a rajah. He knew Col. Olcott, Annie Besant and 
Madame Blavatsky very well. '-'■De ?nortuis nil nisi 
bonum^'' he said of the latter. Col. Olcott, the apostle 
of theosophy, lives near Madras and his home is the 
Mecca of theosophists. I remember him very well, as 
I crossed the Atlantic with him several years ago, a big, 

163 



One "Way Roand the World 

genial man with snowy hair and beard which made him 
look like Kris Kringle, and I regret that our stay in 
Madras was too short to allow us to call and renew ac- 
quaintance with him. 

On all the long eastern coast of India there is no nat- 
ural harbor, and the artificial one at Madras was made 
at tremendous cost, a million tons of concrete blocks 
being used. At one time it was almost destroyed by a 
cyclone and the storm's fury can still he seen in the row 
of slanting undermined blocks that lie outside the new 
and firm walls. The surf is usually strong inside the 
harbor, and as there are no docks, the landing of pas- 
sengers and freight is often tedious and even dangerous. 
The instability of human affairs is never more graph- 
ically realized than when one stands uncertainly on the 
lowest step of a ship ladder ready to get into a pitching, 
rocking small boat which first rises alluringly quite with- 
in reach of your foot and then sinks suddenly to a dizzy 
depth below it. We were fortunate in having a com- 
paratively calm day, and as soon as our big ship sailed 
within the encircling arms of the harbor walls the native 
boats began to put out from the shore. The boats are 
high, open craft made of thin planks stitched with co- 
coanut fiber. They make me think of a section of a 
foot-ball. They were manned by a double dozen of 
rowers who pulled long oars made of a straight bar of 
wood with a round wafer attached to the end, which did 
duty as a blade. 

Madras from a distance is imposing, the graceful 
domes of the law courts rising clear and beautiful against 

164 



"What We Saw in India 

the sky. A closer inspection of Blacktown and White- 
town, as the native and European quarters are called, 
reveals little that is beautiful and much that is repulsive 
and dirty. The only charm is the brilliant, slow-mov- 
ing, panorama of the streets. The Oriental saunters 
and idles, never jostling, never hurrying. If time flies 
he bids it godspeed, and goes on his way leisurely. 

In Madras we rode on an electric car line, the only 
one in India, I believe. Its swift flight seems curiously 
out of place in the lazy streets, but at least it outwits 
the burning sun and furnishes a refreshing breeze. 

The bullocks are even smaller than in Ceylon, and 
how the fat passengers squeeze into the little carts is a 
mystery. The little bullocks very often have one horn 
painted red and one green and they wear strings of beads 
around their necks. The religion of a Mussulman or 
Hindu does not permit him to take the life of an animal, 
but it doesn't prevent him from abusing one. The bul- 
locks are meek, docile-looking creatures, but they are 
unmercifully thumped and whacked and pounded by the 
drivers, while their poor little tails are twisted into cork- 
screws. Perhaps they are like the wily mule and their 
mild mien gives no hint of their latent determination. 

In one place we saw a great crowd assembled in an 
open square evidently waiting to see some one who was 
to come out of the temple near by. We thought of 
stopping and afterwards regretted that we did not, for 
we learned that the crowd was waiting to see Swami 
Vive Kananda, a noted Brahmin preacher whom the 
Wise One had met in Chicago. It was he who repre- 

165 



One "Way Round the "World 

sented the Brahmo Somaj religion in the Parliament of 
Religions. 

The last place to look for Madras plaids is in Madras. 
We spent a quite unwarranted length of time looking 
for some of the rich colored cotton fabrics which we call 
Madras plaids. Perhaps they are made in Manchester. 
It is a fact that a large number of gay blankets and plaids 
are woven in Manchester for the Indian trade. Even 
fabrics have their ups and downs. There is denim that 
used to shine in overalls, now enthroned as a high art 
textile. 

A band of the cleverest jugglers that we have seen 
entertained us on board the steamer. They did dozens 
of the cleverest and most mysterious tricks, but by far 
the most remarkable was what is known as the basket 
trick. A woman is tied in a net and pushed into a bas- 
ket which seems hardly large enough to contain her 
body. The basket stands on the deck surrounded by a 
ring of people and there is no chance of changing it in 
any way or substituting another one for it. After the 
cover is put on the man calls to the woman and a muffled 
voice from the basket answers. Then he takes a murder- 
ous looking long knife and thrusts it right and left through 
the basket, apparently in every direction, rapidly and 
fiercely. There are shudders and ohs and ahs from the 
mystified spectators. After a little while the cover is lifted 
and the woman gets out, free from the net which had 
been tied in stout knots around her, and unharmed. She 
is apparently wedged so tight in the basket that she has 
to be helped to free her head. It is a most wonderful 

i66 



What "We Saw in India 

illusion. The basket must be deceptive in size and yet 
there it is right under your eyes and not six feet away. 
How the woman ever manages to escape being pierced 
by the knife is marvelous. It goes clear through the 
basket and sticks out on the other side. There must be 
room for her to move and avoid it, and yet the basket 
doesn't shake and the knife is thrust through and through 
in quick succession. It is easy to understand how these 
adept jugglers get the reputation of having miraculous 
powers. 

The Hooghly is one of the shower of streams that 
form the delta of the Ganges. You may spell it with 
variations, Hooghly, Hugli, Hoogli, Hughli, and defy 
any one to prove that your spelling is wrong. Hindus- 
tani coquets with the alphabet. There are half a dozen 
ways of spelling every Indian name, and this or that 
authority is sure to clash with your own ideas of the way 
the thing should be done. Probably the confusion arose 
when the Hindustani names first began to be used in 
English. It is likely that they were carelessly spelled 
as they sounded, without any rule of pronunciation. 
Jeypore, for instance, is, I believe, properly spelled 
Jaipur, but Jeypore is much more familiar. 

As we neared Calcutta the question of the day's run 
and the pool thereon, which always furnishes a certain 
stir and excitement on board, was laid aside for the 
more engrossing topic of taking on a pilot. Here was 
a new field for speculation into which we all rushed 
eagerly. A pilot on shore is a commonplace individual 
enough, but when he comes on board a ship he is the 

167 



One Way Round the "World 

hero of the hour. It was past midnight when we sighted 
a ghostly brig that was signalling to us with a flaring 
torch. We ran as near her as it was safe to do and our 
panting engines stopped, leaving us rocking like a cradle 
on the swelling waves. In a few moments we saw com- 
ing toward us a very speck of yellow light, a will o' the 
wisp that danced on the crest of a wave and then swiftly 
disappeared. The sea was glittering and glassy, and the 
powerful out- running tide pulled and tugged at the ship's 
side. Presently we could see that the yellow light was 
in a staunch little boat, and we watched its rowers nght 
inch by inch for their way as they came toward us. The 
water swished and curled and sucked, but the boat held 
its ground and gained steadily. At last it was along- 
side and the much heralded pilot clambered on board. 
The Hooghly is a shifting, treacherous stream, and its 
pilots are as skillful as any in the world. The Ganges 
is lower this year than it has been for thirty-three years, 
and the quicksands are more than usually dangerous. 
As we went up the river the men stood by the boats 
ready to lower them at an instant's warning. On our 
way we saw the masts of the City of Canterbury stick- 
ing out of the water. She sank a few weeks ago. The 
passengers were rescued, but lost all of their luggage. She 
was a fine, big ship, and the sight of the tips of her 
masts above the water, combined with the fact that the 
men on your own vessel are standing by the life boats, 
is apt to make you feel, as we used to say at boarding 
school, "vivid along your backbone." 

We wound and twisted with the channel, almost 
i68 



What "We Saw in India 

tying loops in our course, and when the dangerous part 
was passed we steamed steadily up the stream between 
green banks of plumy cocoanut palms and tangled jun- 
gle, where the sportsmen tell you there is rare tiger 
shooting. 

Near the city are the ruins of the palace of the last 
king of Oude and many dismantled mansions in what 
was once the fashionable part of town. 

At the dock we crawled down a particularly long, 
particularly slippery and particularly tilted gang-plank, 
in imminent danger of having our heads bumped by the 
trunks which the coolies were carrying down on their 
heads, and climbed into the least disreputable of a dis- 
reputable row of gharries that were waiting there. 

The gharry is a ramshackle box of a carriage, drawn 
by two lean horses, steered by a lean driver and fur- 
nished with irritating sliding side doors that insist upon 
sliding in the direction that you do not want them to, 
whichever that may be. We watched our baggage 
piled in a shaky pyramid on another gharry, not without 
misgivings, and afterward made a note of another dodge 
adopted by the fertile heathen for extracting money, for 
the baggage might just as well have gone with us. 

"At last we are on shore!" said the Wise One, as 
we rattled away, and we leaned back and sighed two 
sighs of relief. The Wise One's sighs of relief and my 
own are a continual source of edification to me. "At 
last we are on shore!" we exclaim rapturously at the 
end of a sea voyage. "At last we are at sea!" we cry 
exultantly after a journey overland. 

169 



One "Way Round the "World 

There was formerly a shrine to the dread goddess 
Kali on the site of Calcutta, and from it the city is 
named. Kali is a hideous divinity, gory and blood- 
thirsty, who wears a necklace of human skulls. She 
sends pestilence and scourge and famine and is only 
appeased by blood. In former times human sacrifices 
were frequently made to her and even in late years, in 
time of famine and distress, human heads decked with 
flowers have been found before her shrines. 

Calcutta, the city, is only of passing interest. It is 
neither flesh, nor fowl nor good red herring. Some 
one not inaptly called it the city of palaces and defective 
drains. Luxury walks side by side with misery. 

I came to India hampered with very little knowledge 
of its history but I remembered the shivers that the 
Third Reader tale of the "Black Hole of Calcutta" 
used to give me and I looked up the spot. It is now 
covered by a modern and handsome post-office and the 
place is marked by a stone pavement about fifteen feet 
square, which lies in an entrance court. On an arched 
gateway is an inscription which tells that the stones near 
by mark the size and situation of the dungeon in the old 
fort known in history as the "Black Hole of Calcutta." 

Government House is a noble mansion that stands in 
the usual well-groomed English garden. There the 
Viceroy of India lives in regal state during the short 
winter months, and in summer the whole government 
machinery is moved to Simla, in the hills. The Vic- 
eroy receives about $100,000 a year for his services and 
is appointed for five years. 

170 



"What "We Saw in India, 

Beyond the garden of Government House is the beau- 
tiful Maidan, Calcutta's pride and joy. It is a hand- 
some wide, open green, hardly a park, crossed by drives 
and foot paths and dotted with fine shade trees. In the 
evening it is filled with fashionable people in smart turn- 
outs with Indian servants in gorgeous livery. I liked it 
rather better at midday when the trees threw an inviting 
shade and the occasional brilliant figures of the natives 
stood out on the green sward like brilliant flowers. Very 
often we would see a faithful Mohammedan bowing low 
at his prayers with his face turned toward Mecca. It is 
the month of Ramizan and Mohammedans eat nothing 
from sunrise to sunset. It rather spoils the effect of 
their piety to know that they eat all night. The beauti- 
ful Chowringhi Road with its row of handsome clubs 
and dwellings, and its museum building faces the 
Maidan. 

The business houses of the East are as different from 
our own as they well could be. Sometimes they stand 
in decorous rows as they do at home, especially in the 
large cities, but very often you will drive to the banker's 
or the druggist's or the photographer's, enter a gateway 
by a shady drive and find a flower garden in front of the 
home-like building. 



171 



xvm 

A Glimpse of the Ganges 

WE have had rather a surfeit of zoological and bo- 
tanical gardens and have grown painfully un- 
enthusiastic over rare fauna and flora, but we were still 
charmed by the gardens in Calcutta. In the zoological 
garden there are some splendid tigers, huge, tawny, 
beautifully striped fellows, and all the animals were 
fine specimens of their kind. The birds, too, were 
rarely beautiful ; dainty little songsters in coats of many 
colors, gorgeous birds of paradise, with all the tints of 
sunset in their wings, exquisite gray cockatoos wuth 
soft pinkish breasts and creamy white crests, flaming 
parrots, resplendent peacocks, with blue-green glisten- 
ing throats — all the feathered beauties of the tropics. 

The Botanical Garden is beautifully laid out and 
filled with glassy pools that reflect the rich foliage of 
bamboos and palms and plantains on their banks. The 
glory of the garden is a wonderful banyan that is a for- 
est in itself. It is a hundred and twenty-five years old, 
and the main trunk has a circumference of fifty feet, 
five and a half feet from the ground. At the crown 
this grand old giant has a circumference of nine hundred 
and twenty feet. Its wide spreading branches are up- 

172 



A Glimpse of the Ganges 

held by no less than three hundred and seventy-eight 
aerial roots. Some of them have grown as thick as the 
trunks of a large tree. The banyan's branches spread 
w^idely, and as they gi'ow send down at intervals tufts 
of hairy strands that finally reach the ground and take 
root, eventually supporting the branch as it grows 
longer. The banyan at Calcutta is monarch of them 
all, the largest in the world, and from a distance it is a 
great mound of verdure. When one is underneath it 
is a fairy bower of green through which the sunlight 
falls in quivering flakes of gold. The garden is filled 
with creepers that run riot on the ground and climb the 
trees and festoon the branches — a mass of purple and 
yellow bloom. 

We drove back to Calcutta along the river and crossed 
the pontoon bridge. A busy stream of humanity eddies 
on the entrances and flows over that bridge from morn- 
ing until night and far into the night. Up and down 
the banks of the river in either direction are row after 
row of stone steps, or ghats as they are called, which 
lead down to the water and on which swarms of people 
are bathing. They are scantily clad, or not clad at all,' 
and the light reflects itself on their shining skin as it 
does on a polished bronze. The mysteries of life and 
death are there. Not far from the bridge cheek by 
jowl with the bathing ghats is the burning ghat where 
bodies are cremated and the ashes thrown into the 
Sacred river. The Hindu has a peculiar idea of sacred- 
ness and will call water sacred that is polluted by the 
filth of a sewer. 



One "Way Round the "World 

There is a wonderful beauty about fire, a splendor 
that flashes into existence and glows and flames and 
purifies and vanishes whence it came. A child in- 
stinctively reaches for the shining, waving glory that he 
thinks tangible and longs to feel, and it is only by 
worldly experience that he learns that fire is terrible and 
powerftil. We forget that it is lovely. If to a blind 
man vision were suddenly given he would not gaze 
stolidly and indifferently at a curling flame. It would 
be a thing of transcendent, mysterious beauty. 

So, it seems to me, the worn out bodies which the 
soul has left had best be wrapped in the destroying em- 
brace of purifying fire. But oh, the pitifulness of the 
spectacle at the burning ghat in Calcutta. The rich 
leave life as they come into it — respectably, impressively 
— but the very poor die as they live — sordidly. There 
we saw poor creatures who had not accumulated enough 
money in their journey through the world to burn their 
wretched bodies when they left it. We drove up to 
the ghat and passing through a door and passageway 
stepped into an open quadrangle where the air was 
thick with smoke and there was a noise of crackling 
flames. The sight was horrifying. 

In several places there were piles of charred wood, 
ashes and coals where funeral pyres had stood, and two 
others were still burning brightly. In one of them the 
body was almost consumed, but in the other it could be 
plainly seen. There hadn't been enough wood used to 
cover it. A half-dozen coolies were Unconcernedly 
watching the burning of the body, which was too sick- 

174 



A Glimpse of the Ganges 

ening for description, and occasionally poking the fire. 
We fled. Afterward at Benares I had quite a different 
impression of the Hindu ceremony, but I shall always 
think of that scene at Calcutta with a shudder. 

One has only to turn off of the main streets to go 
slumming. The natives live in clusters of little mud 
huts, without windows or chimneys. The people love 
the streets and live in them. The women scour their 
lotas till they shine, with the dirt in the road, and the 
children tumble and play in it. For each cluster of 
houses there is a sunken pool or tank with steps leading 
down to it, filled with water as green as the banks. The 
drainage all runs into it and the people wash their clothes 
in it, bathe in it and drink from it. I think our boards 
of health at home would rest on their laurels if they 
could see the sanitary conditions under which these peo- 
ple live and thrive and multiply. 

Our hotel in Calcutta was the Great Eastern, the best 
of a bad lot, and it was there we were first initiated into 
the mysteries of Indian hotel keeping. It was there, too, 
that we were introduced to chota hazri. Chota hazri 
isn't, as you may imagine, the name of some dignitary, 
but the name of the early breakfast. Perhaps I should 
have said that chota hazri was introduced to us. The 
ambition of the Indian hotel keeper seems to be to keep 
his guests eating all the time. Chota hazri in your bed- 
room at any hour before lo o'clock, breakfast at lo, 
tiffin at 2, tea at 4, dinner at 8, and a dark doubt in 
your soul as to whether you'll find anything you can eat 
in any of them. After a try at all I've still felt like the 



One Way Round the WotU 

small boy who said he had swallowed a hole. It is then 
that one's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of soda water, 
maple syrup, pop-corn, green corn, and all the edibles 
that float the stars and stripes. 

As soon as we could lay hands on him, we secured 
the services of Narayam Lalla Every one in India trav- 
els with a servant. If you live here you are doomed to 
at least seven, for the man who washes the dishes shat- 
ters his caste if he blacks your shoes, and the man who 
pulls the punkah refuses to do errands, and so on. 
There are a few servants in the hotels, but their atten- 
tion can not be depended upon. The only ones at the 
Great Eastern who displayed any energy were several 
that were perpetually swinging brushes over the slick 
marble corridors and making them more perilous than 
ever. Ah, I forgot another detachment. Whenever 
the head of our family stepped into his room and turned 
around, if he did so twenty times a day, he was con- 
fronted by a row of Hindus wearing the most injured 
expression, who had filed in after him. They all sa- 
laamed and extended their hands for a fee. We always 
knew what they wanted but what their services had been 
we were never able to learn. "The lean chested and 
leggy Hindu," the native has been called, and so he is, 
but perhaps not any more lean chested and leggy than 
the average Caucasian would look if he wore the Hin- 
du's garb. 

After you get your servant you have to take care not 
to step on him for he sleeps outside your door on the 
floor. At night the corridors are filled with sleeping 

176 



A Glimpse of the Ganges 

figures. Narayam Lalla is a good looking, dark little 
fellow, who is intelligent and speaks English well. 
When he waits on us at the table, he wears a blue tur- 
ban and a giddy red, yellow and green belt that satisfies 
our longing for local color. We have arrived at the 
dignity of Sahib and Memsahibs, master and mistress. 
Will the Sahib do this or would the Memsahibs like 
that, asks the Hindu. The Sahib and the Memsahibs 
went to Darjeeling and I will tell you about their jour- 
ney. 

There is probably no stranger or more beautiful rail- 
way journey in the world than that from Calcutta to Dar- 
jeeling. You may safely take a fan, an umbrella and a 
pair of skates. Leaving Calcutta in the afternoon, where 
the atmosphere is steaming and you are perspiring in 
muslins, you will be shivering under blankets twenty 
four hours later in the frosty air of Darjeeling. The first 
five hours of the ride was on an ordinary gauge road 
across the fertile plain of Bengal. We arrived at night 
on the banks of the Ganges and went immediately on 
board the little river steamer that was to carry us to the 
other bank. There was a lively crowd of Calcutta 
small boys who were going up to a boarding school in 
Dai-jeeling, and they kept us from growing over-senti- 
mental as we might have done. A glorious moon sailed 
in the heavens and as we stood at the prow a fresh breeze 
blew from over the stream's bosom. The wide stretch 
of water looked lonely and sweetly peaceful. We fol- 
lowed the snaky current of the river winding from one 
far distant bank to the other, listening to the splash of 

13 177 



One Way Round the World 

the lead as it fell every few seconds into the water, 
while the sailors chanted the depth in the soft Hindu- 
stani tongue. The shoals are as treacherous there as 
they are farther down toward the sea and the pilot sur- 
veys and sounds along the channel every day in a small 
boat before he attempts to take the steamer through. 

When we saw the Ganges again a great red sun was 
rising behind a rim of mist that lay along the horizon, 
and the yellow banks of sand and the placid water were 
tinted a faint pink. Between that clear moonlit night 
and that rosy dawn we had seen the most stupendous 
and the most gloriously beautiful mountains in the 
world. There is recompense for many of the ills of life 
on the day of days when one sees the sun rise on Kinchin- 
junga. 

After we left the river boat we rode all night on a 
three-foot gauge, snatching as much sleep as we could 
in the rattling, swaying cars, which are provided with 
leather seats long enough to lie on. The traveler car- 
ries his own bedding, and a bundle of sheets and pillows 
and comforts is a part of one's impedimenta in India. 
There are always coolies to carry packages and valises, 
and one can travel conveniently with a great deal of 
baggage. In the morning we chota hazrid, and again 
pursued our journey. The gauge had shrunk another 
foot, and we found ourselves seated in armchairs in 
some queer little open cars behind a puffing, snorting 
little engine. It looked ridiculously small, but it pulled 
us sturdily up more than seven thousand feet. It is a 
remarkable railroad. The track winds and twists, mak- 

178 




ON THE WAY TO DARJEEUNG 



A Glimpse of tlis Ganges 

ing the figure 8 and the letter S many times and looping 
over itself several times. In one place, at what is called 
the reversing station, the train zigzags up a mountain 
slope and you can count the track five times. The chief 
marvel, though, is not the marvel of engineering, but 
the marvelous scenery that unrolls before the eyes. All 
day long the train winds in and out along the valleys, 
skirting dizzy precipices, on the edge of mighty gorges, 
opening up vista after vista of the grand wooded moun- 
tains that form the foot hills of the giant Himalayas. 

Figures rarely are impressive, but the number of feet 
that these snow-crowned monarchs tower above the plain 
of Bengal far below gives an idea of their majesty. 
Janu, 25,300 feet; Kabur, 24,000 feet; Pandrin, 22,500 
feet; Chomiano, 23,300 feet; Kinchinjunga, 27,500 
feet, and Everest, 27,799 f^^t, a soaring peak that rises 
more than five miles above the sea. 

After the train leaves Ghoom and rounds one of 
the flanking, lower mountains, Kinchinjunga is visible 
if the weather is clear. The clouds hung over it the 
day we went up, and our view of the long line of snows 
was postponed until an even more impressive occasion. 
As we went along we noticed curiously the strong Chi- 
nese cast of the features of the hill people. We were 
nearing the Chinese frontier, and in Darjeeling we saw 
many queer people of nationalities that I never hap- 
pened to hear of — Lepchas, Nepalese, Bhutias, Thibet- 
ans — strange, outlandish creatures that are more like my 
idea of aborigines than any I have ever seen. The men 
and the women wear jewelry and pigtails, and are hard 

179 



One Way Round the World 

to tell apart by their dress. Stout little Nepalese women 
carried our trunks up the hill to the hotel on their backs. 
Some of the Bhutia women are handsome and Junoesque. 
The men are very often armed to the teeth with fierce 
knives, but they seem a kindly and friendly race of peo- 
ple. The women are loaded with barbaric gold and 
silver jewelry. 

Everything around Darjeeling is on so grand a scale 
that the houses that fleck the hillsides look as if they had 
been spilled from some Noah's ark. It gave me always 
the impression of a toy town, though it is by no means 
small, and the houses when seen near by are many of 
them handsome summer houses. Mt. Everest is not 
visible from Darjeeling, and to see it an early morning 
excursion of six miles has to be made. 

It seemed to me that I had scarcely closed my eyes 
when I heard a knock at my door and a husky voice 
called, "A quarter past three, Memsahib!" "All 
right," I said sleepily, while all my interest in Tiger 
Hills and Mt. Everests oozed out of my fingers' ends. 
But I rallied sufficiently to dress, putting on every warm 
garment I possessed, and went softly down the steps 
into the court of the hotel. The moon was shining 
brightly, and I could see a group of stalwart Bhutias 
standing near what I knew to be our sedan chairs and 
stamping to keep themselves warm. After a hasty 
breakfast by the light of a ghostly candle, we climbed 
into our chairs and at a signal the coolies picked us up 
and started up the valley with a long, rythmical, 
swinging step. They chattered and jested as gayly as 

i8o 



A Glimpse of the Ganges 

the Japanese, and the moonlight twinkled on their ear- 
rings and polished finger rings. The moon hung full 
and resplendent. Long wisps of clouds lay low in the 
sky, and below I could distinguish the dark, undulating 
lines of the hills swathed in mist. Suddenly a mellow 
bell pealed out four strokes that echoed sweetly and 
quivered into silence. We went steadily onward and 
upward, along the edge of fearful precipices, past yawn- 
ing gulches that sunk so far that the moonbeams were 
lost in their awesome depths. The great mountain 
slopes rose vast and mysterious all around us. The 
hours passed slowly, but did not lag. It was bitterly 
cold and we were chilled to the very marrow of our 
bones. We climbed out of the chairs and walked briskly, 
trying to stir our congealed blood. The blue moonlight 
was mingling with the yellowish glint of dawn. We 
hardly knew when the night ended and the day began. 
The stars grew dim and the gray blight which had 
seemed to lie on the grass and stunted shrubs whitened 
and sparkled. It was frost. Far up on the mountain 
side we passed row after row of melancholy chimneys 
crumbling into ruin and covered with lichens. They 
are the only souvenirs of the garrison which was once 
stationed at that bleak height. It was removed because 
so many of the men committed suicide. There is still 
a dak bungalow or rest station for travelers, but no one 
lives there. We had mounted 2,200 feet from Dar- 
jeeling. The sky above was clear, but a haze hung 
over the lower mountains. A last sharp incline was 
climbed by our panting coolies, and we were set down 

181 



One Way Round the "World 

on the summit of Tiger Hill. A rim of the sun notched 
the horizon. Should we see the snows.? Toward the 
west where they lay all was gray and lowering. All at 
once, high up above us, at what seemed half way to the 
zenith, the clouds were rent and I saw a bit of glitter- 
ing, metallic white. "It is snow!" I cried. "It can't 
be!" exclaimed the others, "it is in the clouds." But 
as we spoke the rift grew wider, the gray cloud bat- 
talions wheeled and marched away, and as the sun was 
throwing his last beams on you at home we watched the 
sunrise on the snowy range of the Himalayas. Surely, 
the sun sees no fairer sight in all his journey. 

Mt. Everest in the distance is plainly visible. It is a 
hundred and fifty miles away, and its glittering peak 
looks like a snowy tent. It is interesting as the highest 
point on the face of the earth, but the glory of that 
superb view belongs to peerless Kinchinjunga. The 
first bit that we had seen was indeed snow, and the 
mountain's icy summit towered high above it. Fleecy 
clouds lay along the base, making it hard to realize that 
there was an earthly foundation of granite for the heav- 
enly, radiant vision that hung in the sky, as delicate as 
hoar frost on a window-pane, as iridescent as an opal's 
heart, as pure as its spotless snow fields. We watched 
it entranced for a time. 

Alas! we were of the earth, earthy! Jack Frost 
tweaked our fingers and our noses and our toes, and we 
drank cognac and shivered and at last came regretfuHy 
away. The line of snows lay before us, clear and lovely 
for a time, but as we descended into the valley it was 

182 



A Glimpse of the Ganges 

dimmed by the rising mist. Finally, the clouds piled 
up in foamy billows and it was gone. We came away 
the next day, and the gray wall of mist and clouds never 
lifted. I had had only one view of Kinchinjunga and 
the snowy range. I would not have had it otherwise if 
I could. I have with me the recollection of one per- 
fect, glorious dawn, unblurred, ideal. 



r83 



XIX 

Benares, the Holy City of India 

WHAT in the world shall I do for adjectives? 
I have recklessly used all of my superlatives on the 
charms of color in Japan and China and Ceylon, and 
here I am in India where there is such a wealth of hues 
that I should have to dip my pen in rainbow ink to do 
the subject justice. I wonder if the glow of tints would 
delight your eyes from morning till night as it does 
mine ? Perhaps not, and you will weary of my rhap- 
sodies. 

India has seemed a dream realized, to me. Do you 
remember a collection of Verestch:a.gin's pictures that 
was exhibited in many cities in the United States at 
the same time as the famous Angelus ? They were as 
violent a contrast as one could imagine to the peaceful, 
hazy sunset, and the humble, devout peasants bowing 
at the sound of the vesper bell, which Millet's masterly 
touch made immortal — great glowing canvases whose 
story sometimes made you shudder, sometimes made 
you catch your breath in rapt admiration, and burned 
themselves into your memory. I supposed that the 
vivid figures, the deep azure skies, the white palaces 
with their latticed screens of lacy marble, were India 

184 



Benares, the Holy City of India 

idealized ; but they were India as it is. The old time 
splendor of the Mogul emperors is gone, a splendor 
perhaps never equaled in the world, and their deserted 
palaces are despoiled and crumbling. But enough of 
their magnificence has . escaped the hands of invaders 
and destroyers to let the imagination cover them with 
the mantle of bygone glory. Such an enchantment 
hangs over them that even in the broad glare of noon- 
day the mind's eye can see a bejeweled rajah, sur- 
rounded by his resplendent suite, walking on the noble 
verandas that overlook the river, and catch the glint of 
the bright eyes of the harem beauties peeping through 
a marble screen ; or perhaps hear the sound of quaint 
music in the garden of the court, where the rosewater 
fountains splash and the wind sighs in the trees. 

On the wall of the Hall of Audience, in the palace 
at Delhi — a perfect little gem of a structure, a marvel 
of milky marble and delicate tracery of color and gold 
— there is an inscription in the flowing, graceful Arabic 
characters. "If there be a paradise on earth, it is this, 
it is this, it is this." It was a happy choice for an inscrip- 
tion, but it gleams rather mockingly from the wall now 
when ugly British barracks crowd around it within the 
grand old fort, and clattering tourists click their heels on 
its marble floors and chatter idly under its graceful arches. 
It is a sad little commentary on the instability of mun- 
dane paradises. Even in the days when it was built it 
is probable that misery and unhappiness pressed as close 
around it as they do now. 

But I would take you first to Benares, the holy city, 
185 



One Way Round the World 

to which every Hindu's thoughts turn lovingly, where 
he longs to go and where he prays to die, that his ashes 
may be borne away on the loving bosom of the mother 
Ganges, and his soul be at peace. 

Benares fringes the Ganges where the river bends it- 
self into a beautiful blue bow ; its stately palaces and 
temples, with their towers and domes and slender min- 
arets, stretch along the crest of a hill that rises a hun- 
dred feet above the water. I can imagine how sweet 
that clear water has looked to the eyes of many a dusty, 
footsore, travel-stained pilgrim, who has traveled many 
a weary mile to the holy city. After threading pain- 
fully the narrow, tortuous, unfamiliar streets, he has 
stepped out at last on to one of the wide platforms that 
surround the palaces and has seen the sacred river, that 
will carry away his blackest sins, rippling at his feet. 

Benares is one of the most ancient, if not the most 
ancient, of Indian cities, and is revered alike by those 
of the Hindu and the Buddhist faith. It was at Benares 
that Buddha preached his first sermon and sent his mis- 
sionaries forth to Ceylon, China, Burmah, Nepal and 
Thibet. There is a tradition, too, that one of the Wise 
Men of the East who brought presents to the infant 
Jesus at Jerusalem, was a Rajah of Benares. Buddhism 
has been superseded by Brahmanism in India, but there 
is a third great religion of the East represented in the 
holy city, whose temple is the crowning one of them all, 
whose slender minarets seem to pierce the sky — the Mo- 
hammedan mosque built by the hated Aurangzeb on the 
very foundation of a Hindu temple which he destroyed. 

i86 




BRAHMIN WORSHIPING 



Benares, the Holy City of India 

It appears that monkeys and parrots get along amicably 
in comparison with Hindus and Mohammedans. They 
hate one another with a deep and undying hatred and 
to this day indulge in fierce and bloody battles, even 
within the walls of their sanctuaries. In some places 
laws have been passed which forbid Mohammedans to 
enter Hindu temples and Hindus to enter Mohammedan 
mosques. 

I describe Benares to myself as satisfying, but it may 
be that this word would have no meaning for others. 
There was nothing there that I would have had changed, 
nothing jarring, nothing discordant. 

We rode all night and well into the day going from 
Calcutta to Benares, through a parched, dry country 
where the thirsty earth seemed to cry for water. It was 
the beginning of the famine district. There were a few 
pitiful stunted fields of grain with an occasional green 
patch starred with white poppy blossoms. There has 
been no rain in India for two years, and with the failure 
of the crops has come distress and famine. The mass 
of the people are so poor and the population so dense 
that they can have little or nothing laid by — not for the 
proverbial rainy day, but the dry day.~ "If the next 
monsoon does not bring rain, heaven help us," said the 
gentleman from Madras. 

Laborers earn only three, four and five annas a day — 
six, eight and ten cents of our money — women and chil- 
dren two and one anna. In some parts of India fami- 
lies live on an average of less than one anna — two cents — 
a day, for each member. This year the number of peo- 

187 



One Way Round the World 

pie who are suffering actual want runs into millions. I 
have hardened my heart to many things, but no one who 
has any of the leaven of compassion in his soul could 
see a man or a woman or a little child who is starving, 
without distress. The dreadful shadows of human be- 
ings whom I have seen tottering along the streets haunt 
me in my dreams. I did not know that the spark of life 
would linger in such emaciated, starved bodies. We 
give to as many as we can, but we can reach so few! 
The Hindus themselves are shockingly callous to the 
distress of the poor, and the sleek, well-fed merchants 
and jewelers pass the poor, suffering wretches without 
so much as a glance of compassion. In many places 
we saw hordes of people employed on what is called re- 
lief work, work that is instituted by the government to 
give employment to the suffering. They are the most 
miserable, lean, hollow-eyed people that I've ever seen. 
Mothers are carrying heavy basket-loads of earth on 
their heads, while they hold a baby on their hips. 
Fathers, too, carry children, and little things hardly 
past babyhood trudge along with their load of earth on 
their heads. They are earning the anna a day that 
keeps them from starvation. 

Benares looked beautiful as we came into it. We 
saw beyond a stretch of yellow scintillating sand, 
the blue bend of the river and the long line of noble 
palaces. They were far away, but they stood out with 
the distinctness that is peculiar to the Indian atmosphere. 
On the ghats and on the river bank we could distinguish 
a lazy stir of human life. At the station there were 

i8S 



Benares, the Holy City of India 

crowds of pilgrims in blues, yellows, greens and pur- 
ples, with bells on their fingers and rings on their toes! 
Their bundles of luggage were as gay as themselves. 

We drove often in the dry, dusty, glaring streets. 
Our landaus in India were worthy of a nabob. We 
had coachmen and footmen and syce or runners to clear 
the way. To be sure, the elegance was sometimes a 
bit dingy and faded, but that doesn't matter in the East. 
Inside the ramshackle gharries you often catch a glimpse 
of some Oriental family resplendent in tinsel, satin and 
embroidery. All the rajahs and wealthy men of India 
pride themselves on having a home in the holy city; 
there are many fine palaces and dwellings belonging to 
this or that maharajah or personage of note. 

It appears that maharajahs have their troubles. I 
heard a story of two of them which amused me, but I 
carelessly allowed their names to slip my mind. We 
will call them Maharajah Number i and Maharajah Num- 
ber 2. Maharajah Number i is the ruler of the province 
in which Benares lies. At the time of the visit of the 
Prince of Wales to India some years ago Maharajah 
Number i arranged for his little son to sit on the left of 
the Prince. Maharajah Number 2 pushed the little fel- 
low away and took the seat himself. Maharajah Num- 
ber I was furious, and from that day to this, when Ma- 
harajah Number 2 comes to Benares, he has to camp 
outside the city and hustle through his prayers at the 
shrines in undignified haste, leaving within twenty-four 
hours. 

There are many shrines scattered through the open 
189 



One "Way Round the World 

and more modern part of the city. They have elabo- 
rately carved spires that are flecked with gold spots. 
Covered with icing, they would make beautiful wedding 
cakes. The rows of houses in which the humbler peo- 
ple live have walls of mud covered with whitewash as 
dingy as the bedraggled white garments of the coolies. 
They are decorated with crude frescoes. 

One day as we were driving our attention was ar- 
rested by the sound of a terrific tom-toming that seemed 
to be coming toward us. The horses started uneasily 
and we stopped to await developments. From around 
the corner between the hot, glaring walls wound a bril- 
liant procession. First came the drummers pounding 
their tom-toms. Next a tall, dark man of twenty-five 
or thirty. He was dressed in a gorgeous suit of green 
and blue and surrounded by a flock of yellow-robed at- 
tendants. "He's a bridegroom," said Lalla, and we 
leaned forward to look with an added interest. Back 
of him came the little bride guarded by another blaze 
of yellow followers. She was a little thing, certainly 
not more than seven or eight years old. The upper 
part of her body was muffled up in a thick yellow veil, 
but below her full tinseled skirts peeped out and we 
could see her little brown feet heavy with massive ank- 
lets. "Ah," sighed the Wise One, "what a child she 
is." Just a moment and the procession was gone, hid- 
den by another bend in the street. The tom-toms 
sounded faintly and more faintly and died away. Lalla 
was married when he was eleven, he says, and his wife 
was seven. 

190 




A LITTLE TAMIL BRIDE 



Benares, the Holy City of India 

I should only weary you by telling you of the round 
of temples that we visited. They were all interesting 
and curious and all full of pilgrims from every corner 
of India. The Monkey Temple is a red sandstone 
building, ornately carved. Monkeys were climbing all 
around and we bought some popcorn for them and some 
half-starved dogs that were skulking about. We were 
received by a Hindu priest, with a red smear of paste 
on his forehead, who wore a dilapidated blue velvet suit. 

"Salaam! Salaam! Salaam!" cried a chorus of loath- 
some beggars, thrusting their disgusting deformities into 
our very faces. We speedily had enough of the Mon- 
key Temple and hastened away without stopping to ask 
the customary desultory questions about the history, 
which we always promptly forget. 

The Golden Temple, where the terrible god Siva is 
worshiped, is the holy of holies of Benares. Siva is 
worshiped under a variety of forms, always gruesome 
and awful. He is a creator and destroyer, the ruler of 
evil spirits, ghosts and vampires. Siva is the god of 
the ascetics, a strange, weird sect of men who wear no 
clothes and smear their bodies with ashes. Their mat- 
ted hair hangs in strings. Some of them live on food 
too nauseous to mention. These disgusting creatures 
swarm in Benares and give you an unpleasant start if 
you come upon them unexpectedly around a dark cor- 
ner. There are so many different types of religious 
men that the subject is an endless puzzle. 



191 



XX 

A Wise Man of India 

WE went one day to see a famous old wise man. 
He is supported by some rajah or other and lives 
in a leafy garden, the greenest spot in Benares. We 
entered the garden by a door set in the wall and walked 
to the center of it, where there was a pavilion. Be- 
yond, at the other side of the garden, we could see a 
dwelling and out of it there came a weird little old man, 
bent, hairy and toothless. He had wound a bit of dra- 
pery around him in deference to our prejudices, but 
otherwise he was garmentless. His cheeks and lips 
were sunken and his face a mesh of wrinkles ; his eyes 
glowed like two coals of fire, the most wonderful eyes 
I've ever seen, dark, piercing, and appai'ently filled 
with a boundless benevolence. They had the flash and 
brilliancy of youth ; they lighted his kindly old face and 
made it beam with good-will. He greeted us cordially. 
Lalla acted as interpreter. 

"Ask him a question," he suggested. As a rule, I 
have plenty of momentous questions by me, but, of 
coui'se, at that crisis they all deserted me. "Ask him," 
I said, "ask him whether the next year is going to be a 
happy one for me." The little old man looked at me 

192 



A "Wise Man of India 

and his twinkling eyes smiled. He lifted his hand as if 
in blessing. "The dear young lady's fortune is all 
good," he said. Then he suddenly seized my hand in 
his and drew me with him. I followed wonderingly. 
We went along a shady walk, where the birds were 
singing and stopped before a rose bush. It was filled 
with beautiful blossoms, pink on the edges of their full 
petals, with a tint of wine in their hearts. My guide 
chattered to himself softly in his own tongue as he 
gathered a bunch of them, then he handed them to me, 
again with that rare smile. We went on to a little 
building of marble, and mounting the steps and peeping 
in as he directed, I saw a marble statue of himself. It 
was utterly unlike him. A likeness of such eyes would 
have to be molded from sunbeams, but I affected pleas- 
ure to please him. He laughed softly and again taking 
my hand we went down the steps and back to our party. 
An attendant brought us a book in which we put our 
autographs. There were a number of American names 
there, and Mark Twain remarked with a scrawl that a 
good many of his countrymen seem to be traveling this 
year. I thought that one needed the reputation of a 
Mark Twain to make that remark worth writing. The 
old man then presented us with a book containing his 
picture and some of his writing, and we came away leav- 
ing him standing in the sunlight and extending his hands 
in friendly farewell. I don't know whether he tells all 
young ladies that their fortune is good and gathers roses 
for them as he did for me. If he does they probably 
remember him as pleasantly as I do. All day long the 
13 193 



One Way Round the "World 

fragrance of the roses carried me back to the green gar- 
den and the wonderful, kindly face of the old philoso- 
pher. 

At the Golden Temple, so called because its spires 
are sheathed with plates of gold, we were allowed a 
glimpse of a crowd of devout worshipers but were not 
allowed to profane the temple with our footsteps. It 
was a smelly, dirty place into which I had no desire to 
venture. Quite near it there is a Mohammedan mosque, 
built as an insult to the Hindu faith, but its worshipers 
have lost possession of the court yard and have to enter 
the mosque by a side door. In this court, there is a 
brilliant collection of people. Many weary pilgrims are 
sleeping stretched out in the sun on the ground and cov- 
ered with a blanket of cotton cloth. The children are 
scampering and shouting as they play. The small mer- 
chants have spread their wares on the ground and are 
on the alert for customers. The beggars chant their 
eternal "Backsheesh, Memsahib," "Backsheesh, Mem- 
sahib." The women stand about in idly graceful poses 
or gossip together in a patch of shade. This indolent 
heterogeneous crowd swirls around all the temples in 
the holy city and is not the least of its charms. Between 
the Golden Temple and the Mosque is the Well of 
Knowledge. It is under a canopy of red sandstone, 
and the holy water is ladled out by the priests in return 
for offerings. The water is fairly thick, filthy and 
putrid from the rotting flowers that have been thrown 
into it, but the people drink it eagerly. The floor is 
dirty, and I don't think anything about the place has 

194 



t. {}: 









•:^:\%¥ 




A Wise Man of India 

ever been cleaned. As you walk around you are con- 
tinually invited to step out of the way while a sacred 
cow goes by. The passage ways (one can hardly call 
them streets) are so narrow, that there is barely space 
for a fat cow to squeeze by as you flatten yourself 
against the wall. The streets that surround the temples 
are full of little shops where idols and gew-gaws are in- 
discriminately mixed up. In one place there is a Cow 
Temple where cows are presented as an offering. They 
stand in stalls around an open quadrangle, some of them 
old and decrepit, some well groomed and young. The 
floor is filthy and the connection between such a place 
and sanctity impossible to grasp. It was when in full 
retreat from this uninviting quarter that I almost ran 
into one of those ghostly ash-bedaubed ascetics. 

These are not the places I had in mind when I called 
Benares satisfying. They are curious and deeply in- 
teresting, a perfect revelation of the tremendous differ- 
ence in the habits and beliefs and customs of nations, 
but they do not appeal to one's aesthetic sense. The 
continual appeal is to one's olfactory nerves. The old 
man who followed his nose wouldn't need a guide in 
Benares. 

It is the river that is ever fascinating, ever lovely, ever 
grand. I've told you of the beautiful blue bow and the 
line of stately palaces and temples. When you are 
floating down the stream on one of the comfortable river 
boats they tower so high above you that they seem to 
notch the sky. Below them descend great flights of 
stone steps or ghats that are broken in places into plat- 



One "Way Round the "World 

forms and shrines. Down to the water's edge they 
come in imposing files. In some places the foundations 
have given away and the steps and the buildings lean at 
many angles, but they are of such noble proportions 
that they are always grand. Half closing my eyes, I 
liked to imagine a procession of the palmy days, a re- 
splendent rajah dressed in the rich brocades of Benares 
and Ahmedabad, with woof of silk and warp of gold, 
glittering jewels from Ceylon, perfumes of Araby, su- 
perb canopies from Kashmir, all the magnificence of 
the East. Yet there is no need to go back to the old 
days for beauty. From one end of the river front to 
the other the ghats are alive with people. They are 
crowded together and make a belt bordering the river 
that glows and burns with color as vivid as the gay 
Dutch tulip beds that carj^et the earth around Haarlem. 
The rising sun twinkles in thousands of shining brass 
lotas from which the people are drinking and in which 
they carry away the holy water. They bathe and pray 
alternately. Big shield-shaped umbrellas of straw throw 
spots of shade. Long strips of colored cloth float like 
banners in the breeze and are afterwards deftly wound 
into garments and turbans by their owners. Picturesque 
figures carrying large earthen water jars pass up and 
down the steps. The people come from every corner 
of India and there is every variety of costume. The 
women from Jeypore with gorgeous shawls, full tin- 
seled skirts and massive jewelry are the most curious. 
Probably there is no more wonderful sight in the world. 
Up and down the ghats all day long streams this endless 

196 



A W^ise Man of India 

procession, where for centuries the sun has risen and set 
on worshiping Brahmans. At the burning ghat we came 
upon a strange sight. High upon the hill was a temple 
with the usual line of descending steps lined with rows 
of dark figures in bright colored draperies listlessly 
watching the ceremony. The peculiar stones that break 
the lines of the steps are suttee stones, where widows 
were formerly burned alive. Down below, lying half 
in and half out of the water, was a still white figure 
stretched on a cot of rushes. On the breast there was 
a bunch of flowers and a red substance which had stained 
the winding sheet when the body was dipped in the sa- 
cred river. Just above the water's edge was a pile of 
ashes with a few white charred bones lying in it and a 
little farther a pile of logs was blazing merrily, though 
the white feet of the body were still untouched by the 
flames. Men are wrapped in a white winding sheet 
and the women in red. They are burned very soon af- 
ter they die, while the bodies are still limp. A near 
relative accompanies the body and drives a bargain with 
the priest for the fire which is to light the funeral pyre. 
He pays according to his means, and sometimes when a 
maharajah or rich man dies the priest is paid a thousand 
rupees for the fire. The rich are burned with sandal 
wood and the flames are extinguished at the last with 
milk. The charge for the ordinary wood for the poor 
is small and the friendless are burned at the govern- 
ment's expense. They are brought to the ghat in a 
winding sheet of common sacking, lashed to a pole. 
Early in the morning you can see the coolies washing 

197 



One Way Round the World 

out the ashes in baskets looking for the gold and silver 
ornaments which the dead have w^orn. When the body 
is placed on the pyre the relative takes the bundle of 
blazing sticks which the priest has given him and walks 
five times around it lighting the wood under the head 
and the feet. Then he retires to the steps until the 
pyre is consumed. I told you of the revolting sight at 
the ghat in Calcutta, but in Benares the ceremony is 
impressive and beautiful. 

Benares is famous for brass and brocades. The bro- 
cades are rich gold and silk fabrics worth their weight 
in gold. We went to the street of the brass workers, 
where there is an endless variety of chased brass articles, 
a very few of them fine, most of them clumsy and ugly. 
The nari'ow street rings with the blow of the hammers 
and the clinks of the chisels. The prices for the work 
are surprisingly low, and you can get a vase as big as 
an umbrella stand for a few rupees, if it be to your 
taste. I contented myself with some miniature lotas 
and a delicately chiseled cup. 

At Lucknow, which is interesting to every English- 
man as the scene of the dreadful massacre of 1857, we 
drove in the bazars and visited the sights as usual. The 
old Residency, where the imprisoned garrison was kept 
so many weary, anxious months, is now a picturesque 
ruin, and it and the buildings surrounding it are set in a 
green and flowery garden that is a relief to the eyes 
after the glaring heat and choking dust of the streets. 
The days are hot and dusty, but the evenings and nights 

198 




PAVILION AT LUCKNOW 



A "Wise Man of India 

are cool and starlit. India's "winter" is drawing to a 
close. Very soon the heat can be rendered endurable 
only by the punkah, a long swinging fan suspended 
over one's head and manipulated by a native. "The day 
punkahs begin in March," said Mrs. Fleming, "and the 
night punkahs the last of April. One must have an old 
person, the older the better, for a punkah wallah, for the 
boys and girls go to sleep." Mrs. Fleming is a young 
and charming Englishwoman, the wife of Captain Flem- 
ing, and only sister of Rudyard Kipling. I told her 
with what added enjoyment I had read her brother's 
stories since I had been in India, and asked her if she 
wrote herself. She was a singularly sweet and sunny 
person, and she laughed lightly as she replied: "Oh, I 
scribble a little, and I'm soon to have a story published 
called the 'Pinchbeck Goddess.' " 

The Museum at Lucknow is interesting. It has many 
beautiful fabrics woven and embroidered with thread of 
gold, and I saw there a gold and jeweled robe and 
turban which gave me an idea of the glittering mag- 
nificence of a maharajah in robes of state. In another 
place we saw a gallery of portraits of moguls loaded 
with jewels as big as birds' eggs. 



199 



XXI 

Agra and its Taj Mahal 

IN Lucknow we stopped at Hill's Imperial Hotel, im- 
perial in name only, but the best that is to be found. 
All the hotels in India are down-at-the-heel establish- 
ments, where the food is fair and the rooms arranged 
in what seems the most senseless fashion — three or four 
barny rooms to each suite with dirty floor coverings and 
grimy crockery, when one well-appointed room would 
be much more convenient and desirable. In one small 
room where there is only a wardrobe for furnishing, 
you are likely to find a carpet, while you walk to your 
bath in the bath-room over rough and, I need not say, 
icy flagstones. Arriving in the middle of the night, 
after telegraphing for rooms, you will find the bed un- 
made and no water in the water-jug. The attend- 
ants are few and your own servant does most of the 
work. But like a certain well-known old gentleman, 
the hotels are, after all, not so black as they are painted. 
All unite in reviling them, and you are prepared for 
something worse than you really get. 

We haggled a little with the dealers who haunt the 
veranda at Hill's. Bargaining is the poetry of trade to 
the Oriental. The fakirs and jugglers and vendors of 

200 



Agra and its Taj Mahal 

things we didn't want were persistent and insistent and 
we afterward found that the prices they asked were out- 
rageous. The Indian silver is engaging. The boxes 
and bowls that they offer for sale are roughly chased 
but they have a pretty style. I was beguiled by some 
little boxes chased with the jungle pattern and a powder 
box with little doubled up Buddhas neatly arranged in 
decorative medallions. The dealer has a scale and 
weighs the article against so many rupees, then you pay 
from four to six annas, eight to twelve cents extra, ac- 
cording to the work, for each rupee in weight. 

For fear you'll imagine a rupee a glittering gold coin 
as big as a butter plate, I'll tell you that they are silver 
coins and that it would take three of them to equal in 
value our tiny gold dollar. I shall never be impressed 
as I used to be at the mention of fabulous fortunes of 
rupees. The "jungle pattern," which is a favorite, is an 
ingenious design of palm trees and the various animals 
of the jungle, particularly elephants. These huge and 
gentle beasts walking sedately along the roads, carrying 
large burdens, are a delightfully Oriental touch of the 
landscapes. There is an Indian proverb that says : "If 
you could load him standing, an elephant would carry 
the world." They have to be loaded when they are 
lying down, of course, and can not rise with too heavy 
a load. One day when we were driving past the Great 
Imambara we saw a huge elephant coming toward us 
and stopped to take his photograph. The keeper saw 
us, and halting the old fellow he clambered down over 
his head, holding on by his ear while the elephant saga- 

20I 



One "Way Round the "World 

ciously lifted his knee to make a last step to the ground. 
They are such stupid-looking creatures, but they are 
docile and extremely intelligent. It costs five rupees a 
day at present prices to feed them — a large sum for this 
country — and they can only be kept by rich men. They 
eat sugar-cane, bran and hay and are very fond of a 
sweetened dough called chowpatty, at least that is the 
way it sounds. The elephant is allowed a certain num- 
ber of cakes a day, and when he receives them he counts 
them over carefully. If he hasn't received all he is en- 
titled to he trumpets loudly and will not be appeased 
until the full number is made up. Occasionally keep- 
ers have been killed for deceiving them. The elephants 
will pick up the smallest silver coin with their trunks and 
hand it to their masters. 

Our journey through the bazars was not an unannoyed 
pleasure, fascinating as they are. The shops of the 
bazars are box-like little establishments where the dusky 
merchants sit cross-legged on the floor. They smoke 
their pipes and take the busy days calmly. In the street 
there is the usual crowd of lounging natives, and we 
passed many rows of travel-stained pilgrims on their 
way to Benares. They carried their belongings in two 
baskets decorated with tufts of peacock feathers swung 
over their shoulders, and each one had a brass lota in 
which to bring away the holy water. My eyes fol- 
lowed, too, the beautiful, soft-hued embroidered shawls 
that were draped around the picturesque Kashmiris, 
and the gorgeous turbans of the tall, fierce looking 
Afghans. The turbans are long strips of rich material 

202 



Agfra and its Taj Mahal 

wound around a peaked center of gold embroidery. Mr. 
Jacob tells me that when he takes his stunning Afghan 
servant to Paris and to London the pretty girls take the 
servant for an Indian prince and Mr. Jacob for the 
valet. He is in truth a princely fellow ; tall, dark- 
skinned, fine-looking, with an elegant turban and a res- 
plendent suit of dark blue and gold cut in the chest 
protector fashion that obtains in India, that is, the coat 
is cut with a kind of yoke that is the shape of the chest 
protectors that adorn the show v/indows of the country 
drug stores. The winding of a turban is a fine art. 
None of them are sewed or even pinned, and they are 
dexterously wound in different forms to indicate the 
caste of the owner. They are sometimes red, some- 
times blue, orange, variegated, and often w^hite, usually 
very large. The coolies make their turbans of coarse 
white cotton cloth, but a rich merchant will have a 
snowy headgear that is light as down, made of a won- 
derful cobwebby muslin that is woven in Dacca, near 
Darjeeling, and is sometimes worth its weight in gold. 
At the shop of Ganaisha Lai, in Agra, a famous 
dealer in rare and lovely goods, I saw many exquisite 
fabrics that are not to be found often. When I first 
went there I was waited on by a suave clerk who called 
me "Your Ladyship," and immediately produced his 
book of recommendations from maharajahs and Van- 
derbilts. One of the trials of life is that ubiquitous 
book of testimonials from Lord and Lady This and 
Millionaire That, which is constantly thrust under your 
unwilling gaze. Afterward, I was waited upon by 

203 



One Way Round the "World 

Ganaisha Lai himself, a handsome Indian, who is said 
to have, among a collection, an American wife. He 
showed me many bolts of the filmy Dacca muslins 
which are most poetically named, — running water, dew 
of evening, woven air, etc. They are said to be invisi- 
ble in water but I did not see them immersed. They 
can only be bought by the bolt, which is worth a small 
fortune, and I could not get the small piece that I 
coveted for a specimen of the wondrous skill in the art 
of weaving. Three pieces were given to the Prince of 
Wales when he visited India. They were twenty yards 
long and one yard wide and weighed three and a half 
ounces. Tavernier, the French traveler, who visited 
India a couple of centuries ago, and who wrote many 
quaint and interesting letters that tell of the wonders of 
those days and the splendor of the Mogul courts, speaks 
of a muslin turban thirty yards long, woven at Dacca, 
which was packed in a jeweled cocoanut. 

In China we bought a bolt of gauzy grass linen that 
has been a continual delight to me, but I wasn't at all 
tempted by the Dacca muslins. In my practical eye 
they had a quality described by that deadly word 
' ' stringy, ' ' and I decided that they could be put to no good 
use. How that last word would offend my artistic friend 
Mr. Colonna, who has in his possession so many rare 
and lovely things and who winces at the suggestions of 
well-meaning people of ways to make use of his treas- 
ures. (To use them would be a desecration.) He has a 
box of fine fabrics from all corners of the earth that are 
carefully folded and put away. Occasionally he takes 

204 



Agra and its Taj Mahal 

them out and looks them over, handling them lovingly, 
almost reverentially, before they are again laid away in 
the box. He assured me that they are a panacea for all 
his ills. 

Ganaisha Lai had many fine Kashmir shaw^ls, ring 
shawls they are called, because it is said that they can 
be drawn through a finger ring. The finest ones are 
white and perfectly plain, but the texture is exquisite. 
They are woven of camel's hair, in hand looms, and 
their soft surface is a caress to the touch. These 
shawls are narrow and several yards long, and they come 
folded and sewed on the edges. Before paying forty or 
fifty dollars for a fine one, it is safer to have it opened 
and examine it carefully. The wily Kashmiri has been 
known to weave a fine 6trip on the ends and fill in the 
middle with an ordinary quality. 

But I have wandered far from the Bazar street in 
Lucknow, and I'll only take you back there for a mo- 
ment. The street is so narrow that our carriage blocked 
the way, and we were soon surrounded by a mob of 
howling merchants who wanted to sell us their wares. 
Words are lost on these fellows, and a stout stick bran- 
dished threateningly is the only thing that will keep 
them away. I extracted an embroidered handkerchief 
from the crush and wanted several dozen more, but we got 
out of the din, intending to go back on foot and incognito, 
if possible. We never did, however, and the thing I 
remember best about the bazars at Lucknow was the 
brave array of spangled, tinseled shoes in the quarter 
of the shoe dealers. 

205 



One "Way Roond the "World 

Our stay at Cawnpore was mercifully short. We 
went on to Agra in the evening, and I arrived at the 
station with my spirits at zero. It was in Cawnpore 
that we saw so many desperate, starving people, men, 
women, children and animals, that were walking 
skeletons, half fainting from hunger. That look of 
dumb suffering in their ghostly eyes haunted me in my 
dreams. What grim torture it must be to a man who 
is dying for want of food to see it around him in the 
shops and to beg fruitlessly of the sleek and well-fed for 
money to buy it. The people in the cities are not in 
as pitiable a plight, however, at present as those in the 
outlying country districts. If the Hindus would eat 
flesh the famine would not be so severe, but they will 
die first. They will not take life either, and they allow 
their wretched live stock to starve with themselves. On 
account of the famine it is an unfortunate year to visit 
India. We would always find poverty, but not such 
distress. 

There seemed to be an accumulation of depressing 
sights that day, for the round of places which the tourist 
is doomed to visit are the scenes of the ghastly mas- 
sacres of 1857. Of a garrison of more than nine hundred 
souls only four escaped. We saw the ghat where the 
boats started on the river and were fired at by the treach- 
erous natives who had granted a truce. The four men 
who escaped lay in the water for hours. The natives 
carried out the orders of that inhuman wretch, Nana 
Sahib, the leader of the mutiny, and brutally murdered 
men, women and children. The well into which the 

206 



Agffa and its Taj Mahal 

defenseless women and children were thrown, the dead 
with the dying, till the water was red with blood, is now 
in the center of a park. The well itself is surrounded 
by a large octagonal screen, beautifully carved in stone, 
and just over the well is a lovely marble statue by 
Marochetti, an angel with folded wings standing at 
the foot of a cross. Over the gate is the inscription, 
"These are they which came out of great tribulation." 
In a little cemetery near by are the graves of several 
hundred people who perished. The gravestones tell 
the story of their death. They died so young ! 

In the Memorial Chapel we were shown around by a 
British soldier of the Seventy-fourth regiment, in a gay 
red coat and plaid trousers. He spoke always of the 
"massacree" and how people were massacreed. Alto- 
gether, his accent and grammar were terrific, and he 
made his speech headlong without a comma or a period 
in the whole of it. He acted as a lever on my sinking 
spirits. I was also irrepressibly and unbecomingly 
tickled by a tablet in the floor which announced that 300 
feet of the flooring was laid in memory of a certain man. 
How deliciously unconventional to receive your memorial 
by the square yard. 

"You must not see the Taj first," said Lalla, "or 
you will care for nothing else." So we arranged the 
climax properly, and went first to see the other sights of 
Agra. The whole of it is delightful, and Agra con- 
tains many of the most beautiful buildings that we have 
seen. Whether you are gazing on the massive red sand- 

307 



One Way Round the World 

stone walls of the old fort, or the milky marble arches 
of the dazzling Pearl Mosque, the delicate, frost-like 
carvings of the tomb of Itmad-ud-Daulah or the glorious 
Taj Mahal itself, your eyes are everywhere delighted. 

Itmad-ud-Daulah was the father-in-law and prime 
minister of the Emperor Jehangir. Jehangir had his 
faults, I believe, but he did his best and he built a 
mausoleum for his father-in-law which is a masterpiece 
of delicacy and beauty. Jehangir' s wife was not born 
to the purple, but she was wondrously beautiful and 
found favor in the emperor's eyes. It was Jehangir 
who caused a chain to be hung from the citadel to the 
ground. This chain communicated with a cluster of 
golden bells in his own chamber, and any suitor might 
apprise the emperor of his demands for justice without 
the intervention of the courtiers. 

The tomb of Itmad-ud-Daulah lies across the broad 
river Jumna on which Agra is situated, and is reached 
by a long and rickety pontoon bridge. The bridge is 
crowded with bullock carts and people bringing in the 
country produce, and on the yellow sand of the river 
bed all Agra's washing seems to be spread. The tombs 
and temples of India are always surrounded by an im- 
posing wall with four great gates, usually of rich-col- 
ored red sandstone. These gates are beautiful in them- 
selves, but they are apt — one can hardly say to be over- 
looked — ^but to pass unnoticed because of the greater 
beauty of the building that they enclose. Entering 
through one of these lofty and beautiful portals you 
reach the tomb, a marvel of pure, delicately carved 

208 



Agra and its Taj Mahal 

marble and pietra dura work. It has all the charm of a 
miniature, and in comparison with more splendid monu- 
ments remains a masterpiece of daintiness. It seemed 
to me more appropriate for a woman's memory than the 
stately Taj Mahal. The lower part has beautiful panels 
of pietra dura and wonderful carved marble screens, 
and up above there is a lovely canopy screened by this 
same delicately carved marble, through which the sun- 
light creeps, mellow and golden. You will find that I 
speak often of these pierced screens, for they are found 
everywhere and are so rarely beautiful. In the shops 
you can buy miniatures of them in marble, exquisitely 
carved. Pietra dura is a Florentine art introduced into 
India a century or two ago by the Italian workmen whom 
the Mogul emperors brought to India. And so it hap- 
pens that you may buy in far-away India the very same 
marble monstrosities, if I may be so bold as to speak 
my mind, that fill the little shops along the Arno in 
Florence. The pietra dura work is very effective for 
buildings, very beautiful, indeed, but in the small articles 
known as souvenirs it is hideous. 

In the fort at Agra, that noble pile of sandstone 
whose massive outer walls are still another triumph of 
Shah Jehan, you may dream many idle hours away. 
There is still enough left of the splendid apartments, 
beautiful courts, marble verandas and balconies to make 
the dream of the unparalleled magnificence of the 
Moguls almost a reality. The Moti Masjid or Pearl 
Mosque is one of the gems that the fort encloses. It is 
a mosque of pure white marble and its three domes of 
14 209 



One Way Round the "World 

beautiful proportions probably suggested the Pearl that 
was chosen for its name. It is an ideal house of prayer, 
but when we saw it the inlaid figures on the marble 
floor, pointing toward Mecca and intended to be filled 
by pious Mohammedans, were empty, and there were no 
worshipers. In one place in the palace is a marble bal- 
cony overhanging a court once filled with water where 
the emperor amused himself at fishing. In another are 
the latticed screens through which the ladies of the 
harem looked down on a bazar and bought of the mer- 
chants what pleased their fancy. In still another are 
the squares of black and white marble set in the floor 
where they played chess and parcheesi with living fig- 
ures. Here are the rose water fountains and the sump- 
tuous bath-rooms, set with a thousand tiny mirrors, 
where the ladies bathed. There is the great square 
where the elephant fights were held. On the right is 
the Jasmine Tower, which is said to have been the bou- 
doir of the chief sultana, on the left the noble open por- 
tico where stands the black marble throne. It is cracked, 
and stained with what the guide calls blood. They 
say that the marble cracked and blood gushed forth 
when the throne was stepped on by a Mahrattan invader. 
Everything suggests a bit of fascinating history over 
which the glamour of romance hangs. You see the 
place where Shah Jehan was confined for many years 
by his heartless son Aurangzeb who dethroned and im- 
prisoned him, and on one of the balconies the spot is 
pointed out where he is said to have been carried when 



2IO 




ARCHES IN THE PEARL MOSQUE 



Agffa and its Taj Mahal 

dying that his eyes might rest last on the peerless Taj 
Mahal. 

The view from this portico is grand, never-to-be-for- 
gotten. The stately castle walls stretch away to the 
right and left and the delicate marble towers and bal- 
conies of the palace that rise above them contrast 
strangely with the massive frowning battlements. Far 
below there are some trees with groups of camels and 
people lying in the shade. Beyond is the blue curve of 
the Jumna with its border of yellow sand, and across it, 
delicately misty, are the minarets and dome of the Taj. 
This rounded dome has often been compared to a pearl, 
but I like better to think of it as an airy soap bubble 
that has been moored to earth and frozen into stone. 
There is the ethereal charm about it that the iridescent, 
shining bubble has. 

This most famous of mausoleums was built by the Em- 
peror Shah Jehan for his beloved wife, the beautiful 
Mumtez-i Mahal. Never were there more devoted royal 
lovers and never has a love had such a rare perpetuation. 
It is a sweet story. There, in the beautiful garden which 
the queen loved in life, she lies in death beside her lord 
and lover. He built for her the most splendid mauso- 
leum that the world has known and he dedicated it 
"To the Memory of an Undying Love." And truly 
everything that is lovely in love seems to have found 
form and shape in that wondrous structure. There is 
a singular purity and sweetness about it that impresses 
the most careless. It is solid marble, but it is deli- 
cate ; it is grand, but it is graceful ; it is elaborate in de- 

211 



One Way Round the World 

tail, but it has an effect of beautiful simplicity. It is 
an illustration of the saying that the Moguls designed 
like giants and finished like jewelers. 

I have a regretful feeling that I can not carry you 
with me in my enthusiasm for this matchless "poem in 
stone," this "blossoming in marble." I could tell you 
the millions of rupees that it cost, the number of feet 
that its snowy minarets tower in the air, the width of the 
stately sandstone platforms on which it stands, but 
neither figures nor words would make you feel its beauty 
or catch your breath as you would do if it suddenly lay 
before your eyes. It is the magnet of Agra that draws 
one to it again and again in every idle hour, in the fresh 
morning, at azure noon, at rosy sunset, by silver moon- 
light, to find it ever fair, ever serene, ever lovely. If I 
could have a wish for you all it should be that you 
might walk in the green garden, where the bulbul, the 
sweet voiced nightingale of the East, sings to the rose, 
where the jasmine and the orange blossoms spread sweet 
fragrance and where the lovely marble tomb radiates 
tenderness and beauty and purity. You would forget 
yourself there for a season and you would be the bettei 
for it. 



212 



xxn 

A Modern Prince of India 

AH, I might write for a week without describing hali 
of the glories of Agra, and so I might write for a 
week without describing half of my delightful acquaint- 
ance with Mr. Jacob. There is perhaps no better known 
figure throughout India, and I feel that I am again in 
the domain of the unreal when I begin to write about 
this remarkable man. Mr. F. Marion Crawford has 
made his fame world wide, for it is Mr. Jacob who is 
the original of the Mr. Isaacs in Crawford's fascinating 
story of that name. In private life he is Mr. A. M. 
Jacob, of Simla, India, a millionaire dealer in jewels, 
and a polished and brilliant gentleman. He is a Turk 
by birth and came to India when a boy. I listened 
with deep interest to his story of the day when he asked 
his mother for a silver coin to buy some lettuce and 
then ran away and began his venturesome journey to 
the East. He did not see his mother for years, until 
he was a grown man, and no longer young, but when 
he went to meet her he was careful to go armed with a 
big basket of lettuce. They had feared the strain for 
her, but when he said, "Here mother, here is your 
basket of lettuce," she burst out laughing and the dan- 

213 



One Way Round the World 

ger was past. I shall never be able to choose what 
is most interesting in Mr. Jacob's conversation. He 
talks entertainingly of anything and everything and I'm 
sure that the veriest platitudes would become absorbing 
from his lips. There is a remarkable magnetism about 
the man, and when he speaks his wonderful dark eyes 
flash and glow with intelligence and feeling. Perhaps 
he talks most entertainingly of jewels, the great jewels 
of the world whose history is the history of kings and 
queens, and the rise and fall of empires. 

One morning we drove with Mr. Jacob to the Secun- 
dra, the magnificent tomb of Akbar the Great, which 
is a few miles distant from Agra. It is another great 
pile of red sandstone and milky marble guarded by the 
same massive wall and towering gates and surrounded 
by the same flowery, fragrant garden. The clear In- 
dian sky was never more beautifully blue. The air was 
balmy and bright colored birds were flying in the 
air and twittering in the trees. The monkeys were 
chattering too, and scolding violently. A cunning little 
brown boy offered us a bouquet of orange blossoms and 
went away with a silver bit squeezed in his little brown 
fist. The grave of Akbar is simply marked as are 
other Indian graves by a raised slab of marble. The 
grave itself is in a vault below the level of the ground, 
but in each story of the mausoleum, just above the grave, 
there is a corresponding slab of marble to mark the spot 
under which the grave lies. At the very top, within a 
quadrangle enclosed by carved marble screens and near 
the gravestone, is a low marble pillar on which the 

214 



A Modem Pfince of India 

famous Kohinoor reposed for many years. I perched 
myself on the pillar while Mr. Jacob told me the stir- 
ring history of the gem and I should not dare hint at 
the extravagant compliment which I there received. It 
is a story of love and intrigue, how rajahs played at 
chess for a beauty of the harem, or zenana as they say 
in India, how she twice saved the game for her master, 
how he finally lost it and gave her as a forfeit to his op- 
ponent. Then she revenged herself by revealing that 
the hiding place of the wonderful diamond was in hei 
master's turban. The second rajah secured possession 
of the turban by a ruse, and when he unwound it the 
great diamond fell into his hand. "Ah," he cried 
breathlessly. "It is a Koh-i-Noor" (mountain of light), 
and it was thus that the diamond was named. "It is an 
unlucky gem, though," said Mr. Jacob. ' 'It never brought 
the Indian princes anything but misfortune, and each 
time that the Queen of England has worn it she has 
met with some mishap." Mr. Jacob is the man who 
lately sold the Imperial Diamond to the Nizam of Hy- 
derabad for $1,500,000. Isn't that a figure to make 
one's eyes bulge! I saw a model of it, a flawless 
stone that weighs a hundred and eighty carats. It was 
once in the possession of Dom Pedro, of Brazil, from 
whom it was bought by a syndicate. It was sold by 
the syndicate to Mr. Jacob and he in turn sold it to the 
Nizam. The affair got into the courts and after having 
been long and bitterly contested was finally decided in 
Mr. Jacob's favor. I will tell you the story of the dif- 
ficulty as he told it to me. He sold the diamond to the 

215 



One "Way Round the "World 

Nizam for ;^30o,ooo as a speculation before he knew 
what he should have to pay for it himself. Afterward 
he succeeded in buying it for ;^i62,ooo, much below 
what he had anticipated. The Nizam did not object to 
paying Mr. Jacob what he agreed, but the English 
government, learning of it, interfered in the matter. 
The Nizam had already paid Mr. Jacob ;^i 50,000 and 
was to pay the second ;2{^i 50,000 soon, but the govern- 
ment would not allow him to do so. It may be that 
Indian rajahs with their customary extravagance have 
a habit of buying imperial diamonds when the money 
is badly needed for affairs of state. At any rate the 
government objected and alleged, among other things, 
that Mr. Jacob had hypnotized the Nizam. Of Mr. 
Jacob's occult powers I know nothing, though, accord- 
ing to an article in Borderland, the journal of the be- 
lievers, they are most remarkable, and, as you know, 
Crawford endows him with magical qualities. The 
case was decided in favor of Mr. Jacob, but to get the 
rest of the money is another thing. He has, however, 
every confidence in the Nizam and thinks he will pay 
him. 

The Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Mahbub Ali, is the 
most important of the independent princes, and is said 
to have the finest collection of jewels in the world. He 
naturally wishes to add the Imperial, considered the 
finest diamond in the world, to the collection. The 
"mines of Golconda," that have come to be a proverbial 
expression for riches, are near Hyderabad, or rathef 
they are not, for there is another inaccuracy dear to me 

216 



.m 



A Modem Prince of India 

that has been brought to light. The jewels are not 
found in Golconda, but at Partial, near the frontier, and 
they are only cut and polished at Golconda. 

Mr. Jacob had with him many remarkable jewels, re- 
markable oftener for size than water, for Indian princes 
fancy large gems. I should not be a woman if I did 
not love jewels, and my eyes were dazzled and delighted 
by the display. Some of them were worth large sums ; 
a pigeon-blood ruby, set around with diamonds, was 
valued at 50,000 rupees, which divides by three for dol- 
lars, a diamond worth 30,000 rupees and others equally 
valuable. There was a resplendent head band intended 
to be worn by a rajah. It had a row of half a dozen 
huge emeralds set in gold. They were delicately en- 
graved after an old fashion. In the center there was a 
richly jeweled clasp to hold a white aigrette, and below, 
just over the forehead, hung a sparkling diamond, the 
loveliest that I have ever seen. It was about the size of 
a pecan nut, and was cut with facets on all sides. It 
hung by a silken string, and I swung the glittering little 
pendant of light in my fingers, enjoying as I would en- 
joy fine music its sparkling radiance. There were 
rubies, too, as large as the end of my thumb, bundles 
of unset stones, strings of huge pearls, shining rows of 
topaz and the less precious stones, a magnificent cat's- 
eye, heavy arm bands set with varicolored gems, all the 
barbaric gorgeousness that you can imagine. 

These are a few of the many things which Mr. Jacob 
showed to us. He is the soul of generosity and kind- 
ness. "Oh, yes, Mr. Jacob," said a gentleman to me. 

217 



One "W"ay Round the "World 

"Every one knows of Mr. Jacob. He has the most 
charming home in the world in Simla, and he is a prince 
of hospitality." 

If I have the good fortune to visit India again, I shall 
care most to renew acquaintance with this unique and 
interesting personage. 



The first thing to learn about Delhi is that it is pro- 
nounced Delee, not Delhie, as the uncompromising Indi- 
ana accent has it. After you have learned that you may 
start out to see the sights. 

Our frailties, foibles and fads are all understood in 
the Chandni Chowk, or Silver street, if they are not else- 
where. The Chandni Chowk is the street of the dealers 
in sandal wood, ivory, silver, Indian jewelry, embroid- 
ery in gold and silver threads, ivory miniatures, Kashmir 
shawls, enamels, rugs, pottery, metal work, all the host 
of articles that are manufactured in India, and sold, no 
doubt, chiefly to foreigners. The shops of the Chandni 
Chowk are not small native establishments, but are 
built, if I may so express it, on the European plan. No 
such lively " catch-as-catch-can" shopping, however, 
goes on in any place in Europe. As soon as you enter 
the street you are swooped down on by a horde of 
screaming individuals, v/ho shout the praises of their 
masters' goods and revile the articles of their competitors. 
They make life miserable for you all the time in Delhi, 
and if you are ever indiscreet enough to let them know 
that you fancy a thing they have they will dog your 

218 



A Modern Prince of India 

footsteps from morning till night, appearing at the most 
astonishing and unexpected moments like genii of the 
lamp, and producing the article from somewhere in the 
folds of their voluminous garments. Their entrances 
and exits are as mysterious as the fairy godmothers. 
The dealers often naively ask you whether you prefer to 
buy at "fixed price" or to bargain. Either way you 
are like clay in the hands of the potter, and he is sure to 
get the best of yovi. Cards of addresses descend on 
your head as thick as snowflakes, each one coming from 
the principal dealer in his line of goods in Delhi, If 
you could only be stonily indifferent to these pests all 
would be well, but shops are ever beguiling and those 
of the Chandni Chowk are no exception. 

The fort in Delhi is much like the one built in Agra 
by Akbar the Great. There are the same massive, rich, 
red sandstone walls, and you enter through just such a 
story-book entrance, crossing a deep moat, passing 
through a high gate and winding in along a road en- 
closed by towering stone walls, where the horses' hoof- 
beats echo sharply. It seems an awesome thing to 
pierce such an impregnable fortress, and you half expect 
to see armed men spring up along the walls to bar your 
progress. Inside is the wonderful Dewan-i-Khas, or 
Hall of Special Audience, of which I have already told 
you. It is a fancy of mine not to send you a picture of 
the Dewan-i-Khas. The photographer's art is a won- 
derful one, and in some directions and cases it has been 
known to flatter nature, but there are times when it is 
too inadequate, too disappointing. Build rather in your 

219 



One Way Rownd the "World 

imagination an exquisite structure of white and gold, 
with a tracery of precious marble and a gleam of jewels, 
then when you come to India you may find your vision 
enclosed within the massive walls of the old fort at 
Delhi. It is the Dewan-i-Khas of the Moguls. In the 
center of this Hall of Audience, on a platform of white 
marble once stood the famous peacock throne, the won- 
der of its age. Its cost has been estimated at thirty 
millions of dollars. The throne consisted of a canopy 
and chair all of solid gold, decorated lavishly with jew- 
els. At the back of the chair was the spreading tail of 
a peacock in which the colors of the feathers were ex- 
actly imitated in precious stones. There is also said to 
have been a paiTot carved from a single emerald. This 
wonderful piece of Mogul extravagance was finally sold 
by an impecunious descendant of its creator. It was 
necessarily sold in pieces, because of its great value, 
and a part of it is now in the possession of Victoria, 
Queen of Great Britain and Ireland and Empress of 
India. 

Before we went away we visited another mosque. 
Afterward we haggled and dallied with a vendor of 
the pretty ivory miniatures that are painted by the bushel 
in Delhi. We offered him an amount which he indig- 
nantly spurned, and drove away. After we had rounded 
a corner we heard a shout and turned to see a flash and 
a flutter of turban and drapery coming full speed after 
us. It was Mahomet (they are all named Mahomet 
something or other) coming with the miniatures. He 
had forgotten his indignation of a few minutes before, 

220 





— ■? 



-^- 





.„!? 



A Modern Prince of India 

and smilingly accepted the amount that we had offered 
him, so smilingly that we bought them rather appre- 
hensively. Long practice has made us skillful, how- 
ever, and I don't suppose we paid more than twice what 
they were worth. 

Another day we went out to the see the Kutab Minar, 
a wonderful soaring column of fluted stone that rises 238 
feet above the broad plain which it overlooks. The 
sandstone is richly carved in bands with texts from 
the Koran. The carving is as perfect as in the days 
when it was done, 650 years ago. It is a tower of vic- 
tory builtby a Mohammedan conqueror, and it has looked 
down on an unbroken Mohammedan rule from the time 
it was built until the mutiny of 1857. 

The road from Delhi to the Kutab Minar runs through 
a level stretch of country known as Old Delhi, a terri- 
tory as rich in ruins and buried buildings as the Cam- 
pagna near Rome. Here is another great city that time 
has mysteriously effaced. On every hand are the ruins 
of magnificent tombs which are gradually crumbling 
into dust. Sometimes they are surrounded to the very 
edge of their walls with waving green fields of wheat. 
Sometimes a cut through a ridge shows a wall of solid 
masonry over which the soil has swept like a wave. It 
seems like a vast inundation of earth. Old Delhi is un- 
speakably wonderful if one pauses to think of its long 
history, of its glories, of the triumphs of art and archi- 
tecture over which this dust has rolled. So many spans 
of life have glided by since that buried wall was laid by 
human hands ! 

221 



One "Way Round the "World 

When we got back to New Delhi, full of life and 
modern dust, we dissipated our pensive mood by a tilt 
in the shops. 

We bought some ivory and sandal wood boxes of a 
fixed price dealer who had the things we wanted, and he 
actually stuck to a good high price. The bargaining 
habit has grown upon me, and I find that a fixed price 
aiTangement robs the deal of half its zest. In the little 
shop I was introduced to a real live prince, a brother of 
the King of Servia, I believe. He spoke beautiful 
French and was an agi'eeable personage generally, but 
I thought him a little too ready to speak of the presents 
he was going to make to Massenet or the Prince of 
Wales, and the magnificent gifts which he himself was 
receiving from the rajahs. 

Another dusty ride in the railway brought us to Jey- 
pore, or Jaipur, or Jeypoor, with still other variations, 
one of the most delightful Indian cities that we have 
seen. Jeypore is agi'eeably free fi'om things that one 
ought to do and agreeably full of things that one delights 
to do. It is a prosperous city to begin with, and plainly 
shows the influence of the wise and philanthropic ruler 
who governs it. It was the maharajah of Jeypore, hy 
the way, who visited the World's Fair, and he is an in- 
telligent and advanced sovereign. There is a palace 
high up on the hill overlooking the city, and below it, 
in large lettei's along the hillside, is the motto "Wel- 
come," in our o^^^l familiar English characters. The 
motto itself is ugly enovigh, but the sentiment is gracious 
and pleasing. One feels a genial interest in this cour- 

323 




TOMBS IN OLD DELHI 



A Modern Pflnce of India 

teous maharajali, and visits his palaces and stables and 
museums with an added interest. 

In the maharajah's stables we saw a number of fine 
horses. There are three hundred and fifty satiny beau- 
ties of all breeds and colors, and there are three hundred 
and fifty attendants to see that these equine aristocrats 
are well taken care of. In the evening you can see 
them taking exercise in the streets, mounted by the tur- 
baned attendants, and very often a pack of the mahara- 
jah's dogs will be out for a constitutional, yelping and 
frolicking from sheer good spirits. 

At the Zoological Garden we saw some magnificent 
tigers, fierce man-eaters, that growled and jumped at 
the bars of their cages in a way to make the shivers run 
along your spine. We stopped at a former dak bunga- 
low, which has been made over and named the Family 
Hotel. The inevitable juggler was there, haunting the 
veranda, and he did some wonderfully clever tricks. 
Time after time he took a handful of dry sand out of a 
bucket of water, and we were never able to detect the 
trick. He also made rupees disappear and reappear 
in a cup in an astonishing manner, and he afterward 
captured a number of our own rupees in a way that was 
quite as neat. 

At the elephants' fighting ground, a big enclosure, 
where the gates are barred with heavy beams, you can 
see the fighting elephants, vicious fellows, whose ill- 
temper is cultivated, and who furnish some stirring ex- 
citement when they come to settle old scores. They are 
chained up in a narrow walled enclosure, and are viewed 

233 



One "Way Round the World 

by visitors from a very respectful distance. One old 
warrior, v\^ho had had one tusk broken off in a fight, 
trumpeted loudly when we appeared, and his wicked 
little eyes gleamed balefully at us. We retreated pre- 
cipitately to the small door by which we had entered, 
and made no effort to conciliate him. It was not until 
I had two or three brick walls between myself and his 
highness that I breathed securely. At the left of the 
fighting ground is a building with latticed windows, 
where the ladies of the zenana, or harem, w^atch the 
battles. These latticed-windowed apartments are seen 
everywhere, and on one of the principal city streets is 
the Hall of the Winds, a bit of the great palace, which 
juts out on the street and permits the ladies of the 
maharajah's zenana to see the passers-by and to watch 
the brilliant holiday processions that occasionally pass 
there. 

The palace gardens are filled with sweet smelling 
flowers, and many peacocks walk around with their rich 
feathers glistening in the sun, while monkeys chatter in 
the trees. In a little lake there are some gaping croco- 
diles, which stretch their yawning jaws for the pieces of 
meat that the idlers dangle on the end of a string and 
pull teasingly away from them. They shut their jaws 
with a resounding, ominous snap that echoes across the 
lake. I suppose one of their brown tormentors would 
make a most satisfactory meal for them if he accidently 
tumbled in. The palace is not so beautiful, but the 
maharajah has chosen wisely. Instead of squandering 
his great income in a useless magnificence he has spent 

224 






.-' -;-;;■- 




A ZENANA CART 



A Modern Prince of India 

it for his people, and there is an air of smiling content 
everywhere in Jeypore. The streets are wide and airy, 
the people well dressed, the buildings imposing. Many 
of them have been built by the maharajah himself, and 
they are painted uniformly in rose color, with a tracery 
of white. 

The large fountain square, where the four great thor- 
oughfares converge, is as picturesque a place as you will 
find in a journey round the world. You never tire of 
it. There is always some fresh scene there to amuse, 
or divert, or astonish you. When the blazing Indian 
sun has sunk below the horizon and a fine evening 
breeze is blowing in from the hills, all Jeypore seems to 
be in the streets in holiday mood and holiday colors. 
Red and green and blue and orange — every vivid color 
known to the dyer's art — vie with one another for su- 
premacy. The Jeypore costume is the most picturesque 
of India. The men wind their turbans to one side, 
jauntily, the women wear a quantity of full colored 
skirts with tinseled hems, and their heads and arms and 
ankles are heavy with jewelry. The sole garment of 
the small boy is usually a gay-colored little ulster that 
should come down to his heels, but it is always button- 
less, and it floats in the breeze behind him as he runs. 
There are many groups of naked ascetics, smeared with 
ashes and chanting a doleful song. Sometimes there 
will be a nautch girl dancing in the street, surrounded 
by a circle of admirers. 

It is a fascinating bit of oriental life, a scene that re- 
minds one that the world is wide, and that there are 
15 225 



One "Way Roand the "World 

many kinds of people in it. The home land seems very 
far away amid that smiling sea of brown faces, that alien 
race, that shifting, glowing crowd. A faint haze hangs 
over memory. One feels again that sensation of un- 
reality, that apprehension that the panorama of the 
streets and the azure, cloudless dome of the sky is a 
bright-colored dream. 

After all we went to Bombay. Bombay — the plague, 
the plague — Bombay — a couple of words that have trav- 
eled far and wide together of late. Small-pox in Kobe, 
the cholera in Singapore and now the plague in Bom- 
bay — a grisly trio, truly. Yet we were assured that 
there was little danger in passing through the city, so 
stricken with the deadly fever. To return to Calcutta 
would have meant a long delay, for every passage on 
the steamers was secured for weeks ahead, and to Bom- 
bay we went, arriving one sunny morning. We saw no 
evidences of the ravages of the pestilence, except the 
temporary houses put up for the poor, who were being 
removed from the infected quarters, and an occasional 
burning bungalow which the plague's black finger had 
touched and which had to be destroyed utterly. Eighty- 
six new cases and eighty-three deaths was the sinister 
death-roll of the day published in the morning paper. 
The railway station was almost deserted, and the pas- 
sengers arriving with us, most of them intending to go 
directly on board the "Caledonia," as we did, had the 
greatest difficulty in finding enough porters to carry the 
luggage to the carriages. We scurried through the city, 

226 



A Modern Prince of India 

a beautiful city, too, but deserted and forlorn for the 
moment, half afraid to draw a comfortable breath, and 
once on the P. & O. tug we were soon aboard the 
"Caledonia.'' Then we breathed at length a hope that 
we hadn't met any little plague bacilli out for a stroll. 
It reassured us somewhat to learn that three or four 
courageous countrymen of ours had spent several days 
sightseeing in Bombay without any bad results. 

But the quarantine ! That was the ^ikce de resistance 
m the way of conversation all the way to Suez. Should 
we be allowed to land in Egypt } Should we be allowed 
to land at Brindisi .'' Should we have to go all the way 
to London? What, oh what, should we not have to do,!* 
The officers of the ship were, as usual, non-^committal, 
and rumor was rife. Nothing would be known, we 
were assured, until we got to Suez, but that fact did not 
stem the current of conjecture. At any rate, we would 
have to be fumigated ! Here was a novelty, indeed. 
The Wise One said she rather liked the idea. Not 
every one has a chance to be fumigated on his way 
around the world, and, at least, we'd pay no extra bag- 
gage on germs. Meanwhile the "Caledonia" steamed 
swiftly onward. The weather in the Red Sea was cool 
and rough. Every one had warned us to remember that 
the Red Sea was sure to be hot. Consequently we had 
all our wrong things in the steamer trunks and all our 
right things in the hold. We blamed our friends and 
the weather impartially. That is always much more 
satisfactory than blaming one's self. The stars all 
glowed bright at night, and we all gave ourselves cramps 

.227 



One Way Round the "World 

In the backs of our necks gazing at the Southern Cross. 
Let me whisper that this famous constellation, the sub- 
ject of poetic flights, was pronounced a "fake" by an 
unappreciative young man, who declared that it takes 
five stars to make a cross, instead of four, and let me 
whisper that I agreed with him. 

The morning of the eighth day v/e steamed into the 
"roads" at Suez. To our consternation we had learned 
the day before we arrived at Aden that one of the first- 
class passengers had small-pox. They tried to land the 
unfortunate man at Aden, but he was refused by the 
health officers and was brought back to the ship and put 
in the hospital. We reflected that our already slim 
chances of landing in Egypt had probably gone down 
to zero. Early in the morning at Suez the quarantine 
authorities climbed on board and turned every one out 
unceremoniously in various states of dress and undress 
for inspection. We all tried to look as robust as pos- 
sible, and now, with the hope that you have really be- 
come interested to know whether we were allowed to 
land or not, I'll announce that the subject will be con- 
tinued in our next chapter. 



228 



^ 



« 



xxm 

In Egypt 

EARLY in the morning there was a scurry and a flurry 
on board the "Caledonia," and the passengers hus- 
tled unceremoniously out of bed. "We are in the roads, 
Miss," announced the stewardess, "and the officers are 
just coming on board for medical inspection." Medical 
inspection has ever a pompous sound and calls to mind 
a row of blue-uniformed and brass-buttoned individuals 
whose opinions are to be respected. Having sailed from 
plague-stricken Bombay and having a case of small-pox 
on board, we felt particularly vulnerable, and awaited 
the inspection with some anxiety. "Would passengers 
be allowed to land at Suez ? " " Would they be allowed 
to land at Brindisi.?" "Should we be obliged to go all 
the way to London and be content with this tantalizing 
glimpse of the shores of Egypt.''" Questions and sur- 
mises and sensational reports electrified the air, as groups 
of people, in a greater or less state of deshabille^ stood 
around on the deck and discussed the situation. 

"All of you seem fairly healthy," said the head in- 
spector, a young giant of an Englishman, with twinkling 
eyes. "Think we'll let you land here, but you will 
have to go to Moses Wells." "Oh!" we ejaculated 

229 



One Way Round the Wofid 

ruefully, for Moses Wells meant quarantine and fumi- 
gation. "If you want to get away from Egypt soon, 
be non-committal about where you have come from or 
the steamship companies may refuse to take you," was 
the inspector's private advice to me. " They are all in 
a blue funk about this plague," he continued. "Blue 
funk" is not in my vocabulary, but I gathered that it 
meant a panicky scare. 

The officers gave the most of their attention to the 
crew, who were lined up on deck, a row of dark-skinned 
fellows, principally Indians. They don their best togs 
for inspection and some quartermaster may be arrayed 
in such a dazzling suit of satin and gold embroidery that 
you would mistake him for a rajah. 

The uncertainties of what fumigation had to offer de- 
cided a good many wavering tourists that they really 
didn't care much whether they saw Cairo and the pyra- 
mids or not, and they continued their way to Brindisi. 
So, when the formalities were over, it was just a hand- 
ful of people who climbed down into the little boat that 
lay alongside waiting for us. 

No sooner were we settled than the "Caledonia's" 
screws began churning the water and she steamed away 
from us toward the town of Suez, which we could see 
plainly in the distance. She steamed straight into the 
land, apparently, for she was entering the canal, and 
presently we saw her masts and funnels with their trail 
of smoke across a stretch of yellow sand. 

We were in quarantine and the P. & O. tug that 
usually takes passengers ashore had refused to have any- 

2^0 



In Egypt 

thing to do with us until we had paid our respects to 
Moses Wells. 

Over to the right we could see the oasis that bears 
that historic name, and at a short distance from it were 
the low brick buildings of the quarantine station. The 
oasis is not the place in the desert where Moses struck 
the rock, but it is said that the children of Israel halted 
there to get water from the wells. Our little boat sailed 
leisurely in that direction, aided by two rowers who 
pulled lazily at their creaking oars. But no one could 
have found it in his heart to be impatient of the slow 
progress. The place seemed too fair to leave. The 
water was heavenly blue. It mirrored the azure dome 
above it and flashed back the radiant glint of liquid 
color. This sea might be named Red at sunset when it 
is aflame with the sun's ruddy glow, but by day, under 
the clear, rainless Arabian sky, it is a wonderful, chang- 
ing, shading, sparkling blue. Fluttering over the pel- 
lucid water and floating on its bosom was a great flock 
of gray and white gulls that flashed their wings in the 
sunlight and caught the bright light on the tips of them 
just as the wing-like sails of the fisher boats did. The 
distant sandy shores were a brilliant yellow and beyond 
them rose the gaunt mountains of the desert. Their 
bare slopes are cheerless enough, but they were glorified 
by the soft violet haze that hung over them, a rich un- 
mistakable violet that is rare in nature. Indeed, the 
coloring of Egyptian landscapes is unique and the Nile 
sunsets are one of Egypt's glories. 

At Moses Wells we were greeted by an agreeable 
231 



One "Way Round the "World 

French doctor and a buxom Madame of enormous pro- 
portions, who didn't look as if she had ever had any of 
the ills that the flesh is heir to. Even the quarantine 
victims are welcome in that lonely place, and we did 
our best to dissipate the depressing pall that hung over 
it. The fumigation was mild. Our steamer rugs and 
chairs and some of our clothing were put in a big boiler 
and royally steamed for twenty-five minutes, but we 
ourselves escaped. A glimpse of the little square boxes 
of rooms, furnished with mysterious faucets and pipes 
and a small wooden chair for the fumigatee had not 
tended to reassure us, so we omitted the experience 
gratefully. 

Our men were waiting to take us to Suez in the small 
boat. One of them saw the ukulele in my hand, the 
little instrument, you remember, that has shared my for- 
tunes ever since we left Honolulu. He leaned toward 
me with an engaging smile. " Lady," he said, " make 
a dance." So I played for him a little, to his evident 
delight, and to the neglect of his duties as an oarsman. 
It was finally found necessary to politely recall to his 
attention that we wanted to get the 3 o'clock train for 
Cairo. He rose sr.'ilingly and spoke to the rest of the 
crew in Arabic. They began to pull at the oars, at the 
same time chanting a musical refrain. " What do you 
sing?" I asked. "I sing to the north wind," he re- 
plied. "I sing Blow, North Wind, Blow!" But we 
were not destined to receive a proof of the north wind's 
amiability or lack of it, for in another quarter of an 
hour the P. & O. launch had picked us up and it carried 

232 



In Egypt 

us swiftly to Suez. At the entrance of the canal we 
saw the stars and stripes floating in the breeze over the 
American Consulate, and that sight is always marked 
as an event by the wanderer from home. 

Lo ! we were in the land of still another style of head- 
gear. The fez, this time, red and jaunty, was every- 
where in evidence as well as the white and vari-colored 
turbans of the Arabs. We showered blessings on the 
fez of one small Turk, an urchin who came walking by 
the car window with a basket of hot hard-boiled eggs. 
There had been no time for lunch, and those eggs, with 
dessert of sweet Jaffa oranges, saved the day. The 
gratification was mutual, and our small boy skipped 
away jingling a goodly number of piasters in his pocket. 
Probably he had made the sale of a lifetime. We tried, 
too, some coffee a la Turque, which was handed in 
through the car window. It is a Turkish mixture of 
coffee grounds, sugar and hot water, and is served in 
tiny cups. 

The railway follows the canal, running through the 
desert between fields of barren sand. Occasionally, 
where irrigation was possible, a little green was grow- 
ing and almond trees were blossoming. When one 
looks at that desolate waste, one realizes under what 
difficulties the great canal was built and the immensity 
of De Lessep's achievement. The sun set splendidly, 
and when it was gone the white moonlight turned the 
sand fields into snow. Occasionally we would see the 
starry cluster of lights on a big steamer that was mov- 
ing slowly through the canal. We dined at Ismailia 

233 



One "Way Round the World 

and at Ismailia the Wise One and Paterfamilias com- 
pleted their journey around the globe. Just two years 
before they had dined at Ismailia and started westward. 
This time they had come from the east. To put a 
girdle around the earth makes it seem rather smaller 
they agreed. Late that night we arrived in Cairo and 
were soon fast asleep in that famous and most delight- 
ful of hostelries — Shepheard's Hotel. No wonder that 
after our Indian experience it seemed to us palatial, or 
that after that long day we slept well. 

Cairo, the gay, the cosmopolitan! There is an end- 
less fascination in the quixotic stream of people that fills 
the streets. French, Italian, English, Greek, Turkish, 
and I know not how many other languages are seen 
everywhere on the signs, and men of all nationalities 
rub elbows in the sauntering crowd. You could idle 
away days sitting on the broad veranda at Shepheard's, 
watching the passersby. It is said, by the way, that 
this famous old hotel has had more notable people under 
its roof than any other in the world. In the aftei'noon 
the veranda is crowded with a bevy of fashionable idlers 
who chatter and sip tea. Perhaps a chic Parisienne, in 
the most extreme and modish of frocks, is sitting near a 
dashing American girl, who has for a neighbor again a 
fresh-skinned, blue-eyed Fraiilein, or a stately Russian. 
In the street a harem cart, a sort of diminutive dray, is 
passing. It is drawn by an ornatel}^ decorated donkey 
who jingles with bells, and on the cart are sitting four 
or five or six black shrouded women, the ladies of a 

234 



In Egypt 

harem out for an airing. They are swathed in drapery 
until every line of the figure is concealed. Between the 
eyes, running up and down the nose and resting on the 
forehead, is a peculiar piece of metal much like a spool, 
which holds the heavy black veil that conceals all of 
the face except the eyes and forehead. I do not think 
they fall in love at first sight in Cairo. The large, dark 
eyes of the women, rimmed with black cosmetic, have 
a somber, listless expression, and I never caught a 
gleam of merriment in them. These women are as far 
removed from their sisters of the veranda as they v/ell 
could be. The orient and the Occident do not bring to- 
gether blending conditions but sharp contrasts. An- 
other type of woman is to be seen in the elegantly 
dressed wives of the rich Turks who whirl by in their 
modern carriages, drawn by spirited horses, giving one 
a glimpse of gold embroidered garments and head 
dresses and the filmy folds of a white yashmak, that has 
a touch of coquetry about it, for it only half conceals 
the face and has not the hideous spool of metal to dis- 
tort the eyes. 

Flying ahead of these equipages are the most pictur- 
esque of all the picturesque figures in Cairo, the sais, or 
runners, who clear the way for the carriages of the rich. 
I say flying because their light tread seems too airy to de- 
scribe otherwise. They run for hours ahead of the horses, 
touching the ground so lightly with their toes, as they 
speed along, that it seems they must be Oriental Mercuries 
with a pair of wings concealed in their turbans to keep 
them poised. They are armed with long, graceful 

235 



One Way Round the World 

wands, which carry out the illusion. Their shapely, 
muscular legs are bare and they wear baggy trousers 
and full sleeves made of a thin white material that is al- 
ways spotless. The costume is rendered elegant by a 
jacket richly braided in gold, wound at the waist with a 
plaid silk scarf. A bit of red on the arm and in the 
turban, gives the final brilliant touch. One evening 
as we drove out to the Ghezireh Palace Hotel, we came 
upon a group of sais who had been left by their mas-« 
ters to rest until they returned, for the boulevard is 
broad and the sais were not needed. There were a 
score or more of them, and as they stood laughing and 
chatting together they made a picture that I have not 
seen surpassed for picturesqueness on my way around 
the globe. 

After the carriages with their resplendent sais have 
passed the next passenger by the highway is apt to be a 
solemn camel, lurching slowly along on his way, or a 
jingling donkey mounted by a long-limbed rider whose 
feet almost touch the ground. The donkey is prodded 
and poked by a donkey boy, so-called, who trots along 
behind him and bestows many an idle whack that isn't 
needed, as well as many that are. The donkey boy 
may be a graybeard and a grandfather, but he is known 
as a boy to the end of his days. He wears a long, loose 
coat, usually of an indigo-blue stuff, sometimes of colored 
stripes, and a white turban. The costume of the well- 
to-do Arabs is very handsome. They are large, finely 
formed men, as a rule, and the long, flowing broadcloth 
coats, richly lined and braided, suit them admirably. 

236 



I 




SAIS 



In Egypt 

Their dignity of garb, combined with a marked dignity 
of manner and gesture, make them the imposing figures 
of the streets. 

One day we secured the services of a dragoman, as 
the guide Js called in Egypt. He was an intelligent, 
handsome fellow, and had evidently omitted none of his 
opportunities for extracting extra piasters from the tour- 
ist's pocketbook, for he was very well dressed. On his 
head he wore a fez of a satiny quality of felt. His coat 
was beautifully embroidered. Around his neck he had 
wound a brilliant silk scarf , and his feet were encased in 
sky-blue slippers. He bowed and greeted us in very 
good English, and we soon departed at his suggestion 
for a round of sightseeing. Unless you are to sojourn 
in Cairo for many a month, you can not consign your 
duties to the far-away to-morrow as the Arab does, and 
plan to idly happen on all the things there are to see. 
Neither can you model your conduct by the Egyptians. 
When you are in Egypt, do as the Egyptians do, 
would be idle advice. A diligent search through all 
that maze of nationalities would fail to unearth a class 
or a race that is known as Egyptian. The nation that 
built the pyramids erected monuments which have long 
outlived itself. The Copts are supposed to be the only 
descendants of the ancient Egyptians. The kinky- 
haired, ebony-skinned Nubians and Soudanese are fre- 
quently seen in Cairo. The Soudanese are staunch 
fighters, and are giving her majesty's troops no end of 
trouble in the Soudan. 

Piloted by Mahomet Shokrey Pilley, which was the 

237 



One "Way Round the "World 

hybrid name of our dragoman, we alighted first at an 
empty, open platform overlooking an arm of the Nile. 
Below, in the river, were some dahabeahs, the graceful 
river craft of this noble stream, and a busy, shouting, 
gesticulating crowd was unloading freight and disposing 
of it. On the opposite bank were some tumble-down 
palaces, and beyond, between rows of waving date 
palms, we had the first view of the gi-eat pyramids, two 
toy-like peaks that notched the rim of the horizon. On 
this platform there is a yearly festival, when the figure 
of a woman, dressed in silks and decorated with gew- 
gaws, is thrown into the Nile as an offering to the river 
god. In the old days a human sacrifice of a beautiful 
maiden (in stories of this sort the maiden should by all 
means be beautiful) was always made, but when the 
Mohammedans entered Egypt a protest was sent to the 
caliph at Mecca and the sacrifice was forbidden. George 
Eber's story, "The Bride of the Nile," has this old- 
time custom for its theme. The ceremony still con- 
tinues, and the khedive attends. 

The khedive is seen driving in the streets almost every 
day. His coming is announced by a blast of bugles 
and a clatter of outriders, and every one turns to see the 
procession go by. The khedive is a stout, dark young 
man, who wears a fez and a suit of European clothes. 
It seems to me that he might have changed places with 
his coachman, for a diversion, without any one being 
the wiser. What's in a fez.? No distinction, appar- 
ently, for all sorts and conditions of men wear them. The 
khedive touches his hand mechanically to his head, look- 

23S 




'Aid A 



-' , % 



< ;4*> 



M 



. ' J 



'^W 



1 




BACKSHEESH, "LEDDY" 



In Egypt 

ing neither to the right nor to the left, and continues his 
conversation with his companion. 

After we left the platform we visited the island of 
Roda to see the Nilometer, an ancient pillar carved with 
Cufic inscriptions from the Koran. The pillar stands 
in a walled enclosure, a sort of well so arranged that 
the river water can enter and show the level of the Nile. 
In the old days the taxes were levied each year accord- 
ing to the rise of the river. On this island Mahomet 
showed us the spot where Pharaoh's daughter found 
Moses in the bullrushes. There is nothing but a wall 
of brick and cement there now, and no sign of rushes, 
but I've no doubt that Mahomet would tell you which 
way the wind was blowing at the time, or in which 
direction Moses' head lay, if you cared to know. 

We wandered in the shady gardens on the island and 
gazed curiously at the latticed windows of a palace for 
a harem. I can not explain the mysterious attraction 
that this institution has for the western mind, but I ob- 
serve that at the mere mention of the word people prick 
up their ears and grow attentive. As we walked out of 
the shady garden into the glaring sun, the keeper of the 
gate held out his hand for backsheesh, that pestiferous 
backsheesh that rings in your ears from morning till 
night and haunts your dreams. Being rewarded with a 
small silver coin, because there were no coppers at hand, 
he smiled and expressed his gratitude volubly. "What 
does he say?" we inquired of Mahomet. "He prays 
Allah to bless you," replied Mahomet, "and guide you 
safely to your far-away land." The wish was graceful, 

239 



One "Way Round the "World 

but it rather spoiled the effect to know that he would have 
consigned us with a curse to the remotest corner of an 
undesirable region if he had received a fee that he con- 
sidered small. 

If one had two lives to live, there would be time to 
study Arabic for the sake of its highly poetical expres- 
sions. One day we were sitting near the fountain in the 
court of the mosque of Mahomet Ali in the Citadel, 
a beautiful structure of alabaster, crowned by two tall, 
slender minarets that overlook the city far below, and 
can be seen for miles in every direction, even far out on 
the desert. "You see the man kneeling at his prayer?" 
said the dragoman. "I tell you what he is saying. First 
he wash his hands three times at the fountain. 'O Al- 
lah, I extol thee and beseech thee to keep all devils 
from my soul,' he say. Then he wash the mouth three 
times. 'O Allah, I extol thee and beseech thee to make 
the speeches of my mouth sweet and perfumed.' Then 
he wash the nostrils three times. 'O Allah, I extol thee 
and beseech thee to let me smell all the perfumes of 
Paradise.' Then his face three time. 'O Allah, I ex- 
tol thee and beseech thee to make my face spotless and 
white on the day of judgment.' Then he wash the right 
forearm and he say, 'O Allah, I extol thee and beseech 
thee to give me the Book (the Koran) in the right hand, 
instead of the left.' Then he dip finger in the water 
and wet head three times. 'O Allah, I extol thee and 
beseech thee to protect my head from my enemy's 
sword.' Then last he wash right leg and say, 'O 
Allah, I extol thee and beseech thee to give me lusty 

240 



In Egfypt 

strength to make the great pilgrimage (to Mecca) on 
foot. Thanks be to Allah in the name of the Prophet 
Mahomet. I believe that there is but one Allah, and 
Saidnah Mahomet is his messenger.' " 

By this time the man we were watching had finished 
his ablutions, and we rose and followed him into the 
mosque, whose great width and height and breadth give 
it a wonderful solemnity and majesty. The light was 
dim, and the lofty ceiling of the temple seemed marvel- 
ously high over our heads. Before the tomb of Mahomet 
Ali some twinkling lights were burning. "You are 
a Mahometan, aren't you.?" I inquired softly of our 
Mahomet. "Yes, thank God!" he replied loudly, with 
such unexpected fervency and satisfaction that I almost 
smiled. Waste none of your sympathy on the mis- 
guided heathen. 

It was in the Citadel that the Mamelukes were killed 
by Mahomet Ali, who lies sleeping so near the scene 
of blood. The present dynasty has run only through 
seven generations, beginning with Mahomet Ali, and 
before that the rulers of Egypt were caliphs sent 
from Mecca. Just who the Mamelukes were I am 
not sure, a band of usurpers, probably, at any rate they 
were singularly unfortunate about their heads. Ma- 
homet Ali, considering it advisable to have them all out 
of the way, invited them to a grand banquet at the 
Citadel and laid a plot to kill them all. He very nearly 
succeeded, for only one, Emin Bey, escaped by a peril- 
ous leap on his horse from the high Citadel wall. The 
place pointed out is a dizzy height from which it seems 
i6 241 



One "Way Round the World 

impossible to escape being dashed to pieces. But, 
though his horse was killed, Emin Bey reached the 
ground alive. Years before, the Caliph Sultan Hassan 
killed another band of Mamelukes, under similar cir- 
cumstances, in the mosque that bears his name. 

Returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca he found that 
a conspiracy had been formed against him by the Mame- 
lukes, and he, too, decided that the most effective way 
of disposing of them was to destroy them root and 
branch. He succeeded in assembling them in the 
mosque and had them all killed. The mosque is now 
a majestic niin, but the dark bloodstains of the mur- 
dered men are pointed out on the stone floor. The 
tombs of the Mamelukes and of the caliphs lie in a 
barren waste of sand outside the city, and a band of 
miserable outcasts find shelter within their walls. The 
dust blows in whirlwinds around them and I have the 
clearest recollection, I find, of the interminable winding 
and twisting, stone-walled, dusty lanes through which 
we drove to get to them. They are almost in ruins, but 
some of the domes with their delicate carvings in ara- 
besques are unharmed and beautiful. 

The Amer Mosque is curious, though there is nothing 
beautiful about its crumbling pillars and dilapidated 
court. There is a stone pillar which is said to have 
flown there from Mecca when struck by Mahomet's 
whip and told to do so. A grain in the marble shows 
the curl of the lash and outlines the word Allah in 
Arabic characters. In another place there is a rough 
stone which has been licked by the faithful until it is 

242 



In Egypt 

covered with blood. In still another place are two 
marble pillars worn smooth by the brushing garments of 
believers. The pillars are set very close together and 
those who succeed in squeezing through are supposed 
to be sure of entering heaven. 

The tomb of Ibraim Pasha, that noble old warrior 
who might have carried all before him if the powers had 
not united against him, is interesting, as are many other 
mosque tom.bs too numerous to mention. One of them 
is an amusing illustration of the old saw: 

"When a woman will she will and you may depend on it, 
And when she won't she won't and that's the end on it." 

The khedivia, mother of the present khedive, be- 
came queen regent on the sudden death of her husband, 
and as such she insisted upon having her husband buried 
with her family instead of laying him beside his ancest- 
ors where the line of khedives is buried. She carried 
her point, too, by threatening suicide if thwarted, and 
Tewfick Pasha now lies besides his wife's mother in a 
beautiful little mosque tomb erected by the khedivia. 
It is still unfinished and she goes there to watch the 
progress of the work. The floor is carpeted with rare 
oriental rugs that are a delight to the eye, a real 
chromatic luxviry, and the walls are being frescoed in a 
harmony of rich color and gold. A number of youths 
were sitting on their heels near the entrance, with the 
little folding stand that holds the Koran open before 
them, swaying their bodies and droning passages from 
the Holy Book. The Mahometan's education prac- 

243 



One Way Round the World 

tlcally begins and ends with the Koran, and it is funny 
to see a roomful of little boys at school, each sitting on 
the floor with his Koran stand in front of him, each 
yelling his lesson at the top of his voice. If he becomes 
momentarily drowsy or forgetful the teacher taps him 
with a stick and he starts in again vigorously. 

It seems strange in this eastern setting that suggests 
the Arabian Nights at every turn to find interwoven the 
thread of familiar Christian history and to have pointed 
out, on descending a dark and steep stone staircase in an 
old Coptic chapel, some underground apartments that 
are said to be the rooms of the inn in which Mary and 
Joseph stopped during the flight into Egypt. There are 
niches in the wall marked with crosses where Joseph 
and Mary sat with the Christ child. 



m 



XXIV 

In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

MARCH 17. — "Another delightful day, the joyous 
recollections of which are tempered by numerous 
flea bites and a wealth of sore muscles," says my journal. 
Dust, flies and fleas in Egypt form a triple alliance 
against comfort that I have never seen equaled. The 
subject of fleas has always seemed a trifle indelicate 
elsewhere. Not so in the land of the Pharaohs. You 
may launch the curse of Rome at this lively insect to 
an appreciative and sympathetic audience at any time. 
His presence is a daily reminder that the wise man 
builds his house upon a rock, far away from sand. The 
flies, too, are attentive and sticky. They refuse to move 
unless actually brushed off, and the boys on the streets 
have small rush fly brushes for sale. We experienced, 
too, a real sand-storm. The wind blew a gale, and the 
air was filled with a great, yellowish haze. We shut 
ourselves indoors and watched the sand beat and dash 
against the window pane just as a heavy rain does. 
Then when the wind died down, the sand either whisked 
back to the desert on a last favorable breeze or settled 
down into the dusty streets, and we were back in the 
sunny, serene Cairo of ordinary days. 

245 



One Way Round the World 

The morning of the 17th we departed early in the 
morning for a visit to Sakhara and the buried city of 
Memphis. It is several hours' journey up the Nile to 
them, and the trip gives a very good idea, so those who 
know say, of the whole Nile trip. One can not have a 
favorable season everywhere in a flying trip around the 
world, and we were too late in Egypt to go up the Nile. 
We took that morning, as everybody takes, one of the 
Cook boats, the Tewfick. Thomas Cook & Son, the 
tourists' agents, are omnipresent, and no where more in 
evidence than on the Nile, where they own all the best 
boats and can make much more satisfactory arrange- 
ments with the wily Arab than any uninitiated person 
can. 

The great river of Egypt is a beautiful stream of 
lordly breadth, even in the dry season. After Cairo is 
passed and the lofty tapering minarets of the mosque of 
Mahomet Ali have finally faded from view, the river is 
bordered by two strips of green and fertile fields, the 
scant territory that can be cultivated by irrigation, and 
beyond lies the waste of sand that marks the beginning 
of the desert. It was one of many surprises to me to 
learn that the desert, so burning hot by day, is cool and 
comfortable at night. The sand radiates the heat as 
quickly as it absorbs it, and for a cool evening drive 
people leave the city and go toward the desert. I was 
told that there are places where the sand is hot enough 
in daytime to roast an egg, but where a thin layer of ice 
has frozen at night. That sounds a little too much like 
the tales of a celebrated Baron to be credited, but of 

346 



In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

one thing I can assure you. If you live in Indiana the 
year round you need be afraid of no extremes of tem- 
perature anywhere. It was cooler on the equator than 
it is on some of our July afternoons, and I am told that 
in Siberia the mercury doesn't sink much further out of 
sight than it does with us in winter. 

But to resume. The villages along the Nile are 
dusty, tumble-down, deserted-looking collections of 
houses surrounded by a cluster of feather duster date- 
palms. At the landing a crowd of donkey boys was 
waiting for the party, and the dragoman warned us not 
to attempt to land before the "fight," meaning the 
selection of donkeys and donkey boys. So we leaned 
against the rail of the Tewfick and watched the scrim- 
mage. In his mildest conversation the Arab seems 
ready at any moment to come to blows, and when there 
really is cause for a discussion, his extra gymnastics and 
flow of language are most diverting. The poor donkeys 
received a good many extra whacks in the excitement, 
and our dragoman succeeded in extracting three very 
good little animals from the melie for us, 

"He name Yankee Doodle," said Hassan, my donkey 
boy, who really was a boy, a coarse, ugly, good-natured 
urchin of twelve or fifteen. He had made a good guess 
when he said that the donkey's name was Yankee Doo- 
dle. If his sharp eyes had detected an English cast to 
my frock or my features he would have said that the 
donkey's name was Prince of Wales. Hassan trotted 
along all day behind my steed and assured me many 
times that I had a good donkey, that he was a good 

247 



One Way Round the World 

donkey boy and that I was a good lady. These boys 
pick up a few phrases of half a dozen languages, and 
when their list of amenities is exhausted they gleefully 
begin over again. By dint of many threats of no back- 
sheesh I succeeded in keeping Hassan from belaboring 
Yankee Doodle and he trotted along all those weary hot 
miles patiently and easily. I feel much indebted to 
him for his docility and perseverance, but I can not 
bring myself to approve of his preference for the ex- 
treme outside edge of banks and uncertain paths. 

Our route lay in a circle which took us to many ruins 
and historic places of interest, unearthed by the Egyp- 
tologists. We stopped fii"st to see two statues. The 
huge one of Rameses II has suffered the indignity of 
being stretched flat on his back and having a galvanized 
iron roof put over him. But the desecration par excel- 
lence is the iron bridge that has been built across his 
royal chest so that people may study his proportions 
from above. The second place we visited was the tomb 
of Mena, where we went through many underground 
chambers and passages and waved candles along the 
walls to see the delicately carved inscriptions in hiero- 
glyphics and the rows of queer little Egyptian men and 
women that parade endlessly along these deserted halls. 
The books will tell j'ou pages about the absence of per- 
spective in Egyptian drawings and sculpture and quite 
mix you up by their deductions of whys and wherefores. 
To my untutored artistic sense these little companies of 
youths and maidens looked as if they had been run 
through a wringer and neatly pasted to the background. 

248 




^ 



,.^'^' 






In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

The ruins have all been almost, if not quite, engulfed 
by the shifting sand, and you would pass the ruins of the 
city of Memphis without knowing they were there if 
they were not pointed out to you. The wondeoful 
Serapeum, which contains the sarcophagi of the sacred 
bulls, is now completely under ground. One gropes 
along the dark, hot corridors, peering into the adjacent 
chambers to see the sarcophagi, with their granite 
covers awry and broken, which once held the mum- 
mies of the sacred bulls. It was with the greatest diffi- 
culty that these covers were lifted by modern engineers, 
and how the ponderous sarcophagi were handled and 
placed there remains a mystery. 

Again we pursued our way on donkeyback, passing 
the "step" pyramid of Sakhara. It stands back in the 
desert proper, and is surrounded by rolhng hills of rich, 
gold-colored sand. A glimpse of the fertile valley far 
away toward the river makes Its desolate loneliness all 
the more striking. As our little party filed back to the 
landing the sun was setting. It flamed in the sky and 
burnished the water. The whole landscape was aglow. 
We watched its glory slowly fade as we steamed regret- 
fully back to Cairo. 



"This morning to the Ghlzeh Museum," said the 
Wise One, so we gracefully acquiesced and drove out 
along the shady Ghizeh road, with its rows of lebbec 
trees, to visit the great museum of the world for Egyp- 
tian antiquities. There Is ever a stream of oriental 

249 



One Way Round the "World 

passers-by on this road, many black-veiled women 
and gayly-dressed men, hosts of donkeys and line 
after line of camels, loaded with sweet - smelling 
clover, such heavy burdens of it that you might think 
the cotmtry was coming to town. The museum is a 
handsome building, which contains a collection of 
antiquities that it would take months to see and study. 
Either a life-time or a morning might be satisfactorily 
devoted to it, and we chose the latter. We were much 
interested in the queer little mummies of cats and dogs, 
fish and crocodiles, as well as in the mummies of the vari- 
ous Rameses. It is just as well that mummifying is a 
lost art, and it is to be hoped that no one is spending his 
time looking for it. Why not let the body moulder into 
dust, instead of keeping it in such a ghastly resemblance 
of what it was in life ; and how dreadful to put the 
kingly body of Rameses the Great into a glass case in 
a museum to be stared at by every idle visitor. Near 
the mummy cases there is a wooden statue, supposed to 
be the oldest in existence, of a benignant, fat old man, 
and some interesting stones bearing the same inscription 
in three languages — hieroglyphics, Cufic and Greek. 
The most famous of these valuable stones, the Rosetta, 
is in the British Museum, but several that were equal- 
ly useful in deciphering hieroglyphics are In Cairo. 
After these keys were discovered It was found to be a 
comparatively easy task to decipher the hieroglyphic in- 
scriptions. A member of a certain party which lately 
traveled In Egypt, who is something of a practical joker, 
attracted a great deal of attention as well as admiration 

250 



In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

to himself by reading the inscriptions to a circle of at- 
tentive listeners whenever there was an opportunity. He 
was ingenious and had a lively imagination, and, so far 
as I know, nobody ever discovered that he didn't know 
one character from another. 

The jewelry in the museum is curious and effective in 
design, and much of it shows an astonishing knowledge 
of the goldsmith's art and of enamels. We stopped as 
we came away in the sales-room connected with the 
museum, where antiquities are for sale at modern, if not 
moderate, prices. The favorites are the scarab seals, 
carved with the beetle, emblem of immortality, on one 
side, and an inscription intended for a seal on the other. 
They are found in the mummy cases, and the museum 
is the only place where one can be sure of getting the 
genuine article. Real antiques are now manufactured 
by the bushel in Cairo. Cloisonne in Japan, brocades 
in China, gems in Ceylon, ivories in India, scarabs in 
Egypt! Unless you are an abnormal being, you suc- 
cumb to the fascination of each in its turn. 

I was surprised to find that a mummy can be bought 
for as modest a sum as thirty dollars — not a mummy of 
a Pharaoh, to be sure, at that price, but a guaranteed 
specimen. Mummies, let me whisper, must be bought 
with the same care as scarabs, for there are modern 
mummies as well in the market. 

Everybody drives in the Mousky, that quaint street in 
Cairo that has been so faithfully copied and set down in 
several foreign lands, even carrying the atmosphere of 



One Way Round the World 

the lazy East to as alien a spot as Chicago ; everybody 
wanders in the brilliant, crowded oriental bazars, and 
everybody climbs the pyramids, everybody who can. 
Old Cheops can not be ascended in a desultory manner. 
It takes grit and determination, to say nothing of strength 
and a supply of fortitude beside, to endure the twinges 
of protesting muscles for a good many days afterwards. 
One salient point in the achievement is that you only 
need enough determination to get to the top. You must 
get down. 

'Oh!" gasped our friend, Mr. K., as with a last 
supreme effort he pulled himself up on the small, square 
platform that is now the top of the pyramid, and firmly 
grasped the flagstaff that has been put up to show the 
original height of the monument. "Oh! I wouldn't 
have missed coming up here for a hundred dollars — and 
I'd give a thousand to be down!" 

A view of the edge of the pyramid shows how rough 
and high the stones are, and what an insecure footing 
some of them offer. There are two Bedouins to pull 
and one to push, so the mounting is, if anything, easier 
than the coming down, when the sight of your long, 
precipitous path to the ground is apt to make your steps 
uncertain. The climb is well worth while, however, for 
in no other way can you get a correct idea of the im- 
mensity of these wonderful piles of stone. The pyra- 
mids are owned by the Bedouins, a race of nomads, 
whose tents are seen scattered around over the desert, 
and they charge a fee for mounting and a fee for their 
services. The old sheik of the Bedouins is now near 

252 



In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

death, and his eldest son, who went up with us, frankly 
expressed the unfilial wish that his father would soon die 
and leave him in authority. "He too old," he said. 

I am afraid I was not in a becoming frame of mind 
that day, for as I stood at that lofty height I did not feel 
the swing of the ages, as some impressionable people 
say they do, nor was I impressed with an awesome sense 
of the antiquity of these monuments of the desert. In- 
stead, I let the sheik's son tell my fortune by a mystic 
circle that he drew in sand. Afterward my three 
pilots amused me by giving three cheers for the Amer- 
ican young lady. I am afraid it was a desecration of 
Cheops' tomb. 

There is something in the clear Egyptian air that fills 
one with a keen sense of the joy of living instead of a 
gentle melancholy for a dead past. The thought, 
however, of how many suns have risen and set on that 
stupendous pile makes one's span of life seem a very 
small link in the endless chain of time. 

The view from the top of the pyramid is much the 
same as from Sakhara. Again you see the waves of 
rich warm-colored sand that roll away to the horizon in 
one direction and swirl around the base of the pyra- 
mids themselves. Toward the Nile, green fields and 
palms, and beyond, rising from the cluster of flat-roofed 
buff buildings of Cairo, are the minarets of the mosque 
of Mahomet Ali. Cairo is a city of mosques, and the 
graceful towers on which the muezzins mount to call the 
faithful to prayer are to be seen at almost every turn of 
the narrow streets. They are the continual delight of 



One Way Round the World 



the amateur photographer, who draws in his mind's eye 
a line around everything he sees and imagines how it 
will look printed and mounted, and who sees in the pict- 
ure before him — the busy street with its donkey riders 
and pedestrians, the row of bazars and their picturesque 
proprietors, and finally the towering minaret for a back- 
ground, an ideal snap-shot. 

After we had left the pyramid I mounted one of the 
antique moth-eaten camels that was standing near, "the 
ship of the desert," as he is called. He knelt for me 
to mount and then arose in sections, with a series of 
lurches and rolls that quite carried out the simile. We 
wended our way down into a hollow at the back of the 
pyramid of Cheops and soon came upon the Sphinx. 
This creature of mystery, with its inscrutable battered 
face and strange animal body, is supposed to have stood 
there longer than the great pyramid. Near by are the 
ruins of a massive temple which is thought to have been 
dedicated to its worship. Lying as it does in a hollow, 
where it was carved from the natural rock of a cliff, its 
proportions are not imposing and one can easily be dis- 
appointed in the first impression of it. That is lost as 
one studies it, and there is an undeniable fascination 
about it that takes one there again and again. The 
more one sees it, the more unfamiliar it seems to grow, 
and that is quite in keeping with mystery and fascina- 
tion. 

The dancing dervishes are another of the curious 
sights of Cairo. They dance at a convenient hour for 
themselves, probably, but at an inconveniently early 

254 




A FAIR CAIRENE 



In the Shadow of the Pyramids 

hour of the afternoon for visitors. Every Friday there 
is an early lunch at Shepheard's for those who want to 
go to see them. We lunched with a large and lively 
party of Germans and a sprinkling of other nationalities. 
Soon after we were all off, in a line of carriages, all on 
dancing dervishes intent. Driving through the busy 
winding streets we alighted at the opening of a passage 
way, and after several more circuitous turns we were 
ushered by our dragoman into a shabby sort of mosque. 
It was a circular building with a round wooden dome. 
Around the upper gallery was a closely latticed screen 
to conceal the ladies of the harem. On the lower floor 
a circular space was enclosed by a low wooden railing, 
leaving an outside aisle all around where the visitors stood. 
It struck me that the arrangement corresponded to my 
idea of a prize ring. Paterfamilias, while loth to ap- 
pear well informed on the subject, explained that prize 
rings are usually square. After a while a procession of 
dervishes filed slowly in, and seated themselves on their 
heels in a semi-circle on the floor. They wore long, 
dark tunics, and each had an exaggerated elongated fez 
on his head. The fezes were of a nondescript woolen 
color and the high priest or sheik had a band of green 
around his. Only the descendants of Mahomet are al- 
lowed to wear the green. The pilgrimage to Mecca is 
always made in white. I like to think of that great 
white company which ever toils toward the holy city. 
The white is spotted and stained, no doubt, as their 
lives are spotted and stained, but there is an ideal purity 
suggested that is beautiful. 

255 



One "W"ay Round the "World 

The dervishes bowed low to the ground three tunes 
and, high up in a balcony, a nasal, quavering voice be- 
gan to sing from the Koran. The singer seemed to 
suffer a great deal so we were glad when his part of the 
performance was changed for a gentle drumming and 
weird, flutelike melody that flowed up and down a pecu- 
liar scale of unaccustomed intervals. The dervishes 
arose and walked solemnly three times around the circle, 
bowing low as they passed the sheik and kissing his 
hand. They then made a profound bow to one another 
and at a signal quickly threw off their dark tunics. They 
were dressed in white and wore wide bell-shaped skirts. 
Their feet were bare. When they began to dance they 
"extended their arms and spun around and around till the 
wide skirts stood out straight and made the weird dancers 
look like tops. They apparently can spin endlessly, for 
we watched them turning for a full half hour and then 
left them, still whirling, to go to see the howling der- 
vishes who began their performance a little later. 

At the next place we saw another set of long-haired 
fanatics who were going through with their repulsive 
devotions. They were standing on a square raised 
platform in the open air. Above their heads there was 
a trellis of grapevines. They looked like bacchanalian 
revellers or a band of lunatics ^s they jerked up and 
down, with a rhythmic swing, grunting and puffing and 
snorting, till the noise sounded as though it came from 
a steam engine. It was a strange unintelligible sight. 

As I looked over the crowd I saw a queer mixture ot 
garbs. There were modish hats and frocks from Paris 

256 



In the Shadow of the Pyr amicus 

that adorned the heads of pretty French women and 
Americans, good, sensible and ugly walking hats that 
shaded the rosy cheeks of German fratileins. Near me 
were standing my two tall friends from the Argentine 
Republic and over on the other side I could see the black 
box hat of a priest of the Greek Church and the rolling 
brims of two Catholic priests from Rome. There were 
many fezes and an occasional turban of the black Sou- 
danese boys, with scarred cheeks, who were selling fly 
brushes. They consider a row of scarred lines on the 
cheek decorative. In one corner a man was taking pic- 
tures of the scene for the cinemetograph. There was 
a chatter of French, and German, and English, and 
Spanish, and Arabic in the air. The dervishes appar- 
ently did not deem the hub-bub irreverent and finally 
one of them came around with the fez and took vip a 
collection. It was then that I had a lurking suspicion 
that the performance of the dervishes is one of the stock 
sights that are kept up in all lands for the benefit of the 
guileless traveler who visits them and ponders over them 
and thinks he is seeing the life of the people. "What 
an odd show!" said an English woman as she walked 
away, and that was the best comment, on the whole, 
that I heard. 



17 257 



I 



XXV 
Due West Again 

WE were to go from Ismailia to Marseilles on the 
Chusan, our old friend the Chusan, that had 
carried us from Colombo to Calcutta, and was now on 
her way back to London. Accordingly we took the 
afternoon train to Ismailia, and were soon comforta- 
bly established in the Victoria Hotel, plump against 
the Suez canal, plump against a little lake, rather, 
which just in that place forms a part of the artificial 
water-way from sea to sea. The Chusan was expected 
that evening and we learned by telegraph that she had 
entered the canal at Suez, so it would be a matter of 
only a few hours until she arrived. 

We had left Cairo in the teeth of a wind storm, with 
the dust flying in clouds, and that night the gale rose 
to a hurricane. The Chusan came not. Word was 
sent that the storm was so severe that she was tied 
up in the canal and it was uncertain when she would 
be able to leave. There was danger of her being 
blown aground. The little company of fourteen who 
intended to get on board went reluctantly to bed. 
Next morning the relentless wind was still blowing 
fiercely and the sand dashing against the window 

258 



Due "West Agfain 

panes. The long day wore away, with occasional con- 
tradictory reports of the Chusan's plan of action or 
inaction, and evening and night came. Finally, at half 
past twelve, we were allowed to go to bed with the as- 
surance that the ship would not come along until morn- 
ing. Alas, for the mutability of human affairs ! Hardly 
were we well asleep when there came a resounding rat- 
tat at our chamber doors and an irritating hoarse voice 
called out that the Chusan was approaching. 

1 : 30 A. M. ! It was a sleepy party that assembled in 
the office below and each man, as he paid his bill, took 
occasion to soundly berate a blonde and impassive hotel 
clerk for letting us go to bed, each insinuating broadly 
that we weren't told that the ship was about to arrive, 
so that the hotel might capture the shillings for a night's 
lodging from fourteen victims. The clerk took the 
matter calmly and urbanely, the shillings as well. I 
suppose he is accustomed to scathing remarks from 
sleepy guests early in the morning. 

A tug was lying at the dock to take us out to the 
steamer. The night was clear and cold. It was bright 
moonlight. While we steamed around in the lake to 
while away the time of waiting, we could see the search- 
light on the mast of the Chusan casting its great pierc- 
ing shaft across the sky. Finally she steamed into the 
lake, we ran alongside and climbed aboard. 

There were hot coffee and biscuits awaiting us in the 
saloon which we duly appreciated. All our troubles 
over, we gayly chatted and laughed over our experi- 
ences. I reflect that we probably waked every one in 

259 



One "Way Round the World 

that part of the ship with our hilarity. If we did, I can 
cross off the list as balanced, one of the many times that 
I've been waked myself by other people's fun. The 
only chance of evening up such scores is to take it out 
on the general public. 

When our luncheon was finished, the sun was rising, 
we had left the lake and were again slowly steaming 
between the narrow walls of the canal. The ships run 
very slowly to prevent washing the banks, and we were 
several hours going the short distance from Ismailia to 
Port Said. The monotony of the waste of desert flats 
was relieved by passing an occasional steamer, bound 
in the opposite direction. 

Port Said was queer and heterogeneous. There are 
a quantity of little shops in the place, filled with mer- 
chandise from every quarter of the globe, and in the old 
days, before the visitation of the tourist, rare and lovely 
things could be picked up for a very small sum. Now- 
adays a great deal of the goods, especially the embroid- 
eries, is cheap and inferior, not to be desired at any 
price and showing a lamentable degeneracy in choice 
and combinations of color. It is unfortunate that com- 
petition and the wider opening of trade is destroying the 
taste for a fine fabric. With our changing fashions a 
comparatively cheap class of goods is imperative. What 
a pity that we can not find it practical to buy fabrics at 
twenty, thirty and forty dollars a yard, woven to be 
things of beauty and joys forever. 

It was in Port Said that we saw the last Indian jug- 

260 



Due West Agfain 

gler, who pulled the head off of one little fluffy yellow 
chicken and made him into two, indefinitely. 

It was just about this time that Paterfamilias and the 
Wise One and I decided that we had had considerably 
more than a headful of sights. "There's no place like 
home," said the Wise One, and we assented. The 
Wise One's remarks, whether original or quoted, are 
always sure to be considered carefully and unfailingly 
approved. 

So it happened that in the last of our journey around 
the world events trod fast on one another's heels. 

The fair and fickle Mediterranean was on her good 
behavior and we had a most favorable passage to Mar- 
seilles. The sea flashed back as clear a blue to the sky 
as it spread over her and in that azure setting I have a 
remembrance of a heavenly vision, the long, lofty, snow- 
crowned range of mountains on the Island of Crete, 
which burst on our view one sunny morning. We were 
too far away from the island to see human habitations 
and the mountains hung between sea and sky as solemn, 
as inscrutable, as grandly beautiful as the snowy range 
of the Himalayas. At their feet the water was dotted 
with men-of-war, such tiny craft in the distance, that 
they looked like toys. We remembered that there was 
strife and bloodshed on the island. It was hard to re- 
alize. The glorious lonely line of snows breathed peace 
instead of war. 

Marseilles is busy and bustling and I won't keep you 
long with me there. I wish, though, that I could take 

261 



One Way Round the World 

you high up on the hill to the church of Notre Dame de 
la Garde, where there is a splendid wide view over the 
sea, as fine a view as you will find in all the Riviera. 
I'd like, too, to have you stop in quaint Avignon so we 
could wander in the narrow streets, where the walls al- 
most nod together, and visit the palace of the popes, 
and see the old bridge of Avignon, famous in French 
nursery rhyme, where the people used to dance and 
dance. 

But on to Paris, where we devoted ourselves seriously 
to frills and furbelows. 

Paterfamilias and the Wise One had gone straight to 
Paris from Lyons, leaving me to run over to Switzei*- 
land for a visit with old friends there. It was in that 
wise that I traveled alone from Geneva to Paris, quite 
a I' Am/ricaine, having for traveling companions a chic 
and charming Parisenne, and a rather vinegary young 
Swiss girl. It is a night's ride, and the principal interrup- 
tion to our slumbers was the clatter and bang of the long, 
flat metal water cans that are slid at intervals in and out 
of the railway carriages. They are filled with hot water 
and are removed as soon as the water gets cold. They 
lie along the floor under one's feet and are the only 
means of heating provided, consequently passengers on 
a night train in France are more or less bulbous bun- 
dles of woolen rugs. The sleeping cars are very un- 
satisfactory, and one travels more comfortably in the or- 
dinary first-class carriages. 

At 7 o'clock we were in the metropolis, the only city 
in the world to every Frenchman. 

262 



Due West Again 

The morning was wet and soggy and cross. All 
Paris was under an umbrella. Hailing one of the 
weather-beaten coachmen that are to be secured any- 
where in the city by the raising of a finger (considera- 
tion, one franc fifty With pourboire") ^ I climbed into the 
ramshackle little carriage and rolled away, contented as 
a warm cat to be back in Paris — Paris, the charming, 
the beautiful, in rain or shine. 

There is no poor quarter in the city, apparently. You 
find the same broad, well-kept streets and boulevards, 
the same rows of handsome, uniform buildings wherever 
you go. This is explained by the fact that poor and 
rich live under the same roof, and, generally speaking, 
there is no separate business and residence quarter. The 
Rue de la Chauss^e d' Antin, for instance, one of the 
busiest and most crowded thoroughfares in Paris, is the 
street in which many wealthy merchants and bankers 
live. As you walk along the street you would think it 
entirely given over to business, but an occasional glimpse 
through a broad doorway will reveal an elaborately dec- 
orated court; or, perhaps, from another door, flanked 
by the establishments of the butcher and baker, an elegant 
carriage will emerge, with coachman and footman out- 
side and Madame inside, arrayed in silks and laces 
ready for a promenade in the Bois. 

But let me see, we were rattling along in a modest 
fiacre from the Gare de Lyon. Here is the Place de la 
Bastille, at the end of the "big boulevards," where the 
Bastille formerly stood. It is wet and misty, and the 
tall, bronze July column, with its winged figure so 

263 



One "Way Round the World 

lightly poised, glistens like polished marble. Across 
the open square a group of little French school-boys are 
running on their way to school. They look like hob- 
goblins, with the peaked hood of their circulars pulled 
up over their heads, and their bare knees peeping out 
above their stockings. It is a fantastic Paris this morning. 
A heavy omnibus, drawn by three perfectly matched 
Norman horses, is rumbling by, and the dark figures on 
top, crouching under umbrellas, look like a growth of 
weird toadstools. 

And now we are threading our way along the "big 
boulevards," with their multiplicity of signs, and, at this 
hour of the morning, their streams of hurrjdng, business- 
like pedestrians. In the afternoon the very atmosphere 
of the boulevards will be changed. Paris will be joy- 
ous and sauntering, particularly so if it be sunny. To 
see the boulevards at their happiest, you should be here 
in carnival time, when the trees are festooned with 
myriads of fluttering paper ribbons, and the air is filled 
with a gay shower of rainbow-colored confetti. The 
boulevards are carpeted with the tiny circles of vari- 
colored paper, and every one makes merry. 

Just now there is more than a hint of spring in the 
air. Ever since we entered France our eyes have been 
refreshed by the verdure, so doubly welcome after dusty 
Egypt and dustier India. In the Bois, or Bois de Bou- 
logne (Woods of Boulogne), to give it the full title, the 
buds have burst into tiny leaves of that sweet, fresh, 
tender green that the French call primevert. We seem 
to have no word for the first virgin color of the spring. 

264 



Due "West Again 

Ah, I have sometimes wavered a little in my loyalty 
to Paris as the most beautiful city in the world when I 
have been traveling elsewhere, but I always reproach 
myself for it when I get back again. Surely, there is 
not so beautiful a square on the globe as the wide, 
stately Place de la Concorde, so inappropriately named 
the Place of Peace, for in the days of the Commune, 
not so long ago, it bristled with cannon, and long before 
that, at the time of the Reign of Terror, the dread guil- 
lotine stood in the center, where an obelisk now stands, 
between two splashing fountains. In that black time 
more than two thousand people were guillotined and a 
sewer had to be built to carry their blood to the Seine. 

The Place de la Concorde is so smiling now, so 
characteristic of this rubber ball of a Paris that always 
rebounds from misfortune and quickly wipes away the 
traces of war and bloodshed. On one side is the Rue 
Royale, and at the end of the street you can see the 
massive columns of the Church of the Madeleine, Na- 
poleon's Temple of Glory. To the right are the Gard- 
ens of the Tuileries, where the beauty of nature has 
been allowed to replace the ruins of the burned palace. 
Opposite the Rue Royale is the bridge of La Concorde, 
and beyond the Seine, the Chamber of Deputies. From 
the bridge looking up and down the river, you can see 
on one side the soaring Eiffel tower and the minarets of 
the Trocadero which recall the mosque of Mahomet Ali 
in Cairo ; in the other direction, the galleries and Palace 
of the Louvre. Farther on are the twin towers of 
Notre Dame and the slender spire of the Sainte Chapelle. 

265 



One "Way Round the "World 

It is a noble array of edifices. If one could only see 
the gossamer threads of a hundred histories that are 
woven in the air. 

It takes little imagination to think of active, busy, 
seething Paris as a being endowed with life, and the 
swirling stream that flows through the Place de la Con- 
corde seems to be its very heart beat. 

The noblest approach of all is the Avenue des Champs 
Elys^es. Far up at the end of its gentle slope you see 
a misty little arch, that frames a bit of the sky, and 
seems set on the very edge of the horizon. As you 
drive up the avenue, between the rows of trees and 
flower beds, past the Rond Point with its fountains, 
along with the crowd of well-dressed cosmopolitan 
pedestrians and elegant turnouts, the diminutive arch 
grows and widens till it becomes the beautiful Arc de 
Triomphe, the splendid monument of the great Na- 
poleon's victories that the world admires. 

There is ever something to do in Paris. Sometimes 
it is to stroll in the Latin quarter, as did the famous 
three musketeers of the brush, sometimes to wander in 
the museums and palaces, sometimes to sit at a little 
table in front of one of the big cafds of the boulevards 
watching the gay boulevardiers stroll by, gotten up re- 
gardless as J. M. would say, sometimes to go to the opera, 
the theater, for a drive in the Bois. The praise of the 
French woman's taste has been almost over-sung, but 
for an air of spruceness and general well-grooming a 
well-dressed Frenchman can challenge the world. Not 
that I would place him ahead of the American in effect. 

266 



Doe "West Agfain 

It is only that his dapperness is striking. There are the 
poor too on the boulevards. Elegance rubs elbows with 
misery in the most beautiful city in the world as it does 
everywhere. 

There is no denying that we were very frivolous, very 
Frenchy as we say (very American, the French say for 
the same thing), in our choice of amusements. Pater- 
familias does not understand French so he enjoys an en- 
tertainment where there is a charm of light and color, 
and froth of that sort is plentiful. At the Scala we saw 
Yvette Guilbert and were charmed by her genius. Her 
work glows with that rare quality and she redeems an 
indelicacy that is inevitable in French music halls. 

At the FoHes BergSre we saw Ot^ro, the Spanish 
beauty and incidentally the Spanish dancer. She is a 
celebrity and she blazes with jewels, but she lacks mag- 
netism and we didn't care for her. She is a radiant 
picture, however, in a gown of shimmering satin that 
glitters with gems. Her throat and arms and hands are 
covered with them, and they sparkle in the embroidery 
of her bodice and skirt. We liked better "Kara, the 
great American (?) juggler," who skillfully juggled 
with everything he could lay hands on, including the 
newspapers, tables, billiard balls, cues in a cafd and 
finally the waiter himself. 

Would it interest you, I wonder, to know how I re- 
newed acquaintance at the Folies BergSre, with my 
friend, Mr. Jack Home? Truth is reall}' stranger than 
fiction and I leave it to you if, in a story book, such a 
meeting would not be a strain on one's credulity. 

267 



One Way Round the "World 

Mr. Jack Home is an Australian whom we had met a 
number of times in Japan and China, and we saw him 
last in Hong-Kong, as we were sailing for Singapore. 
If he told me his plans I had forgotten them and we had 
drifted in different directions and lost sight of one an- 
other. That night as I sat at the Folies Bergfere, my 
eyes wandered over the audience, a glowing one by the 
way, for Paris is ablaze with red, and there sitting in 
one of the open boxes, just one removed from ours, 
was Mr. Jack Home. That we were mutually sur- 
prised goes without saying. Mr. Home had come 
around on the other side of the world, by Japan and 
America, while I had come by India and Egypt, and 
we found ourselves in almost adjoining boxes in Paris 
at the Folies Berg^re'. 

Let me tell you a joke on the French ! Their motto, 
as you know, is Libert^, Egalit^, Fraternity, liberty, 
equality, fraternity for all. One day as we were riding 
on top of an omnibus out to Pbre la Chaise Cemetery, 
my eye was caught by the familiar words carved in 
stone over the gateway of La Roquette Prison. It is 
in front of this gateway that you see the flagstones in 
the pavement on which the guillotine is set up, and 
don't you think it a delicious satire that they should 
have chosen to decorate the grim entrance of a prison, 
which occasionally looks down on a guillotine, with 
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity? 

London was all agog with excitement over the prepara- 
268 



Due West Again 

tions for the Jubilee. Trafalgar Square was busier than 
ever and Landseer's splendid lions at the foot of the 
Nelson monument stood out with an added touch of 
repose and majesty. Neither had the commotion in- 
vaded Westminster Abbey. It was lofty and peaceful 
and silent, full of association and inspiration. 

But London had no charms for Paterfamilias on this 
occasion. Acute nostalgia had seized him. We found 
him interested only in packing and steamers and home 
going. Aided and abetted by Mr. P. he changed our 
date of sailing only three times, each time for an earlier 
one. The Wise One and I thought it good form to de- 
mur but at heart we were not unwilling. Mr. P. is an 
old and valued friend who traveled with Paterfamilias 
and the Wise One several years ago in Mexico. His 
path had crossed ours again in Paris and he has shared 
our fortunes since. The man who finds the world op- 
pressively small is the man who has a reason to want to 
get away, but for people with comparatively clear con- 
sciences the sight of familiar faces in unfamiliar places 
is as cool water is to thirst. 

We were on board the Normannia for our last voy- 
age toward the west. It gives one an odd sensation to 
leave his country at San Francisco and come back to it 
at New York. There is a wide journey between them, 
a voyage of great discovery, and "east or west home's 
best." 

New York harbor was in gala dress. The White 
Squadron lay in the bay ready to take part in the cere- 

369 



One Way Round the "World 

mony at the unveiling of General Grant's monument. 
I've been lately entertained by the clever observations 
of a London newspaper man, who enclosed his opinions 
of us between the covers of a very red book and called 
it "The Land of the Dollar." On entering New York 
he was most impressed by the advertisements for Cas- 
toria, which, it must be confessed, spring up there as 
thick as brown-eyed Susans along a Hoosier rail fence. 
He did not know what Castoria was. "It appears that 
children cry for it," he observed, "which seems a poor 
enough recommendation to the harassed parent." We 
ignored the Castoria signs and waxed enthusiastic over 
New York's beauties as we pointed them out to our 
French and German companions. "Hooray!" we tele- 
graphed, "we're here," and in another twenty-four 
hours or two Paterfamilias, the Wise One and I had 
put a period to our pilgrimage at our own fireside. 

Greetings ! my friends, the arm-chair travelers, who 
have followed me in my wanderings, perhaps toasting 
your toes at the fender while I screened myself from a 
blazing tropical sun, perhaps fanning yourselves with 
palm leaves while I shivered on mountain tops — may 
your journeys be as pleasant and your lives long, and so 
good-bye ! 



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